The Learning Curve
by HellfireSupremacy
Summary: Here Mark is the Grandmaster who rescued Lyn, and has since taken it upon himself to train her and her allies in the art of war. To his soldiers he is more than a tactician; he is a teacher. And he makes sure that one way or another, they learn his lessons. (Now featuring Evil Robin, Dead Sheppards, and Insane Outrealms. Slowly morphing into an FE:A crossover.)
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Fire Emblem. I just love it.

Lesson #1: See With Your Eyes

"**Point, Lady Lyndis" **

"If that was a real fight she'd have taken your bloody head off!" Sain taunted.

A hardy crowd had assembled to watch Lyn and Hector spar. By the cheering and jeering of the onlookers, it was obvious to all who had made good on their promise to embarrass the other. Florina cheered, Wil hoorah-ed, and Kent collected his wager from Matthew. Oswin shook his head, Raven laughed, and Serra rushed to attend her liege-lord.

"Again!" Hector's axe was hoisted and swinging before his last cut had even mended.

He swung at Lyn to the same effect as last; he simply could not move his axe at the same speed that she could react to it. Try though he might to feint or misdirect or overpower, she was never where his blow landed. And no sooner could he realize that his axe needed to be somewhere else then her sword was between his plate mail…or across his under-leathers…or at his throat…

A single hit and his strength would have destroyed her, but she wasn't giving it to him.

"**Point; Lady Lyndis**!" Sir Marcus bellowed as Hector again found himself with his axe swinging wide and the point of a sword against his jugular. A grumble and another dispatch for Serra was the only indication that he had heard.

"…She's fast… " Eliwood opined, cheering for neither friend; watching the battle with Mark and observing the bout to gauge their abilities rather than stroke their egos. "Probably the fastest in our ranks…"

"..."

"…besides you, of course…" Eliwood added hastily as the master-at-arms and lord tactician who had saved the girl from the plains two years earlier and taught her every sword art she knew (and had since taken it upon himself to mentor all who fought besider her) shot him a dirty look. "Certainly faster than any foe we've crossed blades with."

"…The assassin I fought at the Dragon's Gate was faster." Mark's eyes followed his first pupil's movements. "Lyndis's speed will exceed his own when her technique is complete, but as of now…"

"…you don't think she could take him?"

"If they fought today, he would kill her 5 times before she hit the ground." Mark had only fought the fabled Angel of Death once, but once had been enough to leave an impression. None of his protégées were yet capable of crossing blades with him. Although some were getting closer than others…

"**Point; Lady Lyndis**"

"DAMN YOU VILE WOMAN…BE STILL!"

"…Hector is struggling…" Eliwood, observed.

"Is he now?" Mark thought otherwise.

"He never loses his composure like this when we fight."

"Do you really believe the difference between Hector and Lyndis is composure?"

"…No…" Eliwood responded slowly, thinking very carefully about what he was going to say next. He had suffered enough of Mark's lessons to know he was being tested. "…the difference is technique."

"Do you mean that Lyn's technique is superior to Hector's?"

"**Point; Lady Lyndis!" **

"No. Hector is as capable with his technique as Lyndis is with her own. I mean that Hector's technique matches up poorly against Lyn's."

"…Are you certain?" Mark's gaze never left the sparring partners.

"I am certain that Hector is no less reliable in a fight than Lyn, if that is what you are asking..."

"…I am asking you if you are certain a mismatch of techniques is the reason why Hector has yet to land a single hit? Look with your eyes; what do you see?"

"…I don't understand…"

"Don't understand. _Perceive_."

"**Point; Lady Lyndis!"**

"I perceive my fair lady showing power and grace rivaled only by her beauty," Sain chimed in.

"…that is because you see with your cock…" Mark chided.

"I perceive that this is no contest; Lady Lyndis's skill far surpasses Hector's," Kent offered.

"…that is because you see what you want to see…"

"I perceive that my young lord is fighting like a pissed-off teenager," Matthew quipped.

"…that he is. But not for the reason that you might think…

"**Point; Lady Lyndis!"**

"Its not just technique," Eliwood reasoned. "It is technique—Hector's axe matches up poorly against Lyn's sword—but its more than that. Even if Hector were wielding a sword he wouldn't be hitting her. Not like this…"

"Explain," Mark smiled ever-so-slightly.

"It is as you have always said. Speed and toughness—power and finesse—these are the fundamentals of combat. For all things there is a trade-off. Speed is the price of toughness and toughness the price of speed; for every level of armor gained a degree of movement is lost, and for every degree of movement gained a level of armor must be sacrificed. Power is the price of finesse and finesse the price of power; for every ounce of power unrestrained thrown into an attack the attack becomes more wild, and for every degree of precision gained power must be withheld."

"…and what does this mean?" Mark asked with what could have been a hint of curiosity or a hint of amusement.

"Hector cannot beat Lyn because he instinctively falls back upon power and toughness, and she instinctively falls back upon speed and finesse," Eliwood watched another one of Hector's axe blows land far off the mark and a swift strike from Lyn punish him for it. "The difference in speed is such that Hector and only Hector takes damage, and his advantage in power and toughness is no advantage at all. Against the same level of skill but no preference of fundamentals this would not be. Hector would prevail because a small disadvantage in speed would not be great enough to overcome his advantage in damage-per-swing and Lyn would falter because her small advantage in speed would not be enough to overcome a disadvantage in damage-per-swing, were they both to fight an opponent who evenly balanced power and toughness and finesse and speed…"

"…an opponent like yourself." Mark nodded his approval. "One who sees how the pieces fit and does not try to force them; but is swift when he needs to be swift and strong when he needs to be strong. You have learned well, Eliwood of Pharae, but you have not perceived."

"How do you mean?"

"The fundamentals are as you say, as are the applications. But that is not why Hector struggles."

"Then why?" now Eliwood was truly at a loss.

"Is there not one among you who is yet capable of seeing it?" Mark challenged. Still his gaze never left the sparring partners. "Look with your EYES."

"**Point; Lady Lyndis!"**

"…This isn't how Hector fights when he's serious," Florina piped up, and Mark's ever-so-slight smile widened to something more than ever-so-slight; something that could almost be called a grin. "He's letting her win."

_**KER-BRRRRRUUUUUUUUU-BRUUUUUU-BRUUUU-BRUUUU**_

Mark's hand shot straight up and a peel-of-thunder rumbled from his palm; the sparring stopped and all in attendance gave him their undivided attention, knowing that not another weapon would be swung until the Grandmaster spoke his mind.

"Have you forgotten everything I taught you Lyn!" Mark berated. "Are you not enraged?"

"Why should I be!? Hector said I could never beat him because I'm just a girl. Look how wrong he was!"

"…Florina, what were you just telling me?" Mark glowered.

"…well…u-u-u-u-um…it d-didn't really look like he was…"

"FIRST LESSON: SEE WITH YOUR EYES!" Mark shouted. "A blind man could see Hector wasn't even trying to hit you; he held back because he's afraid to hit a girl!"

"YOU DID WHAT!?" Lyn turned on Hector enraged and punched him in the side.

"…why would you tell her that…" Hector deadpanned.

"One more round; fight her for real this time," Mark commanded. "Fight her the way you fight ME."

"…she hits like a man…" Hector rubbed the unarmored spot Lyn had punched. "…why the hell not…" he hoisted his axe and made the come at me gesture.

"Now I'm REALLY going to let you have it…" Lyn charged.

…The first difference Lyn noticed was that Hector was so strong, he didn't really need to hold Wolf Beil with two hands.

…The second difference Lyn noticed was that when Hector had one hand free, he could use the plating on the back of it's gauntlet as a make-shift shield against her sword strikes while attacking with his axe.

…the third difference Lyn noticed was that when his axe wasn't in a position to hit her, that didn't mean his free hand wasn't in a position to hit her.

And that was the last thing Lyn noticed before a backhand from Hector knocked her unconscious.

"BASTARD; I'LL KILL YOU!" Sain drew his steel.

"Peace, Sain." Mark counseled.

"He hit her!"

"I told him to."

"He HIT HER-hit her. Like a…Like a…"

"…like every armored brute who knows he can hoist an axe with one hand and punch with the other will try to hit her." Mark finished coldly. "And because of what she has just learned, they will be less successful."

"…This was poorly done…" Kent scowled.

"Good," Mark did not flinch from Lyn's glare of resentment as Serra mended her back to her feet. "If it wasn't, she might forget."


	2. Chapter 2

Lesson #2: Limits

"You're still mad at me?"

It wasn't so much a question as an observation. For Mark, having stopped at a Bernese Inn and retired to his room while the rest of the soldiers made merry in the Great Hall, this was his first chance to speak privately with Lyn since the…incident…during morning training.

"You humiliated me in front of the entire company!"

"Humiliation is an illusion of the ego. It does not exist."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you were the one…"

"…who thought I had reached a level where I was fast enough and strong enough to overcome a fighter who looked down upon me; unfairly, I presumed, because I am not a big muscle-bound lug of a man. Only to find when we crossed blades that his abilities far exceeded my own, and have my master throw it in my face before all my peers? To realize that all those times he looked down it wasn't because he didn't know what I was capable of; it was because he knew exactly what I was capable of?"

Lyn looked like she was about to cry. The bruise on her face still hadn't healed, although Serra had mended the damage beneath. A man of softer affections would have found Lyn's pouting pitiable, and perhaps made some conciliatory gesture. Or reminded her that she was still the strongest woman he knew; that would have brightened her mood. But as far as Mark was concerned, his job wasn't to make Lyn like him. His job was to make her stronger.

"It happened to me more times than I could count when I was a green-cloak," Mark took a swig of tavern ale, as he often did when he recalled his apprenticeship. "I achieved the rank of grandmaster because every time it happened, I learned something. What did you learn today?"

"…I learned that my master is a mean-spirited bastard…"

"You knew that the first time we met," Mark quipped. The day Lyn had been taken by Batta the Beast—the day their fateful journey had begun—Mark had cut down three men with a single slash and electrocuted them in their own blood. "What did you learn TODAY?"

"…a lesson in dodging?" Lyn ventured a guess.

"No. Well…not entirely…" Mark poured another tankard and passed the drink to Lyn, who accepted the closest thing to an _I'm Sorry _that she knew she was going to get. "If I wanted to teach you that and only that, there were other ways. What did you learn from fighting Hector that you could not have learned any softer way?"

"…I don't know…" Lyn admitted after a long pause.

"Then I will tell you a story," Mark took another swig of ale. "Once there was a man named Illion. Illion was strong-of-arm-a woodcutter from a small village in Araphen—and as sure as any man could be that so long as he had his trusty axe, no man could best him. Illion's village was in the territory of the Shatterskull Bandits. The Marquess was a cruel man and sent no knights to aid them. Illion was a simple man of simple means, but he wanted to help his village, so with his hatchet and his hopes he set out to challenge the bandit Leader, Thraxus the Cleaver. Thraxus gutted him and strung him up by his bowels before sending him back to his village and burning it to the ground."

"That's a horrible story," Lyn drank to forget her own.

"Now I will tell you another," Mark continued. "There was a man named Kattam from a village near Illion's. He too was a woodcutter, and he had the same thought as Illion. One day with axe in hand, he snuck upon the bandit's camp meaning to kill their leader. Kattam took one look at Thraxas and fled, knowing that if they crossed blades he would surely die. Kattam returned home and vowed that he would train in the ways of battle until he was strong enough to complete his task. He joined a mercenary company and learned the ways of sword-and-shield from a dishonored knight among their ranks. He earned gold with which to buy a suit of armor; this too he trained to use, until he could move in mail as tirelessly as in leather and direct axe blows to where he knew they would not cut. Armored and trained Kattam returned to the bandit's camp, slew Thraxus, and mounted is head on a spike while his villagers sang and danced.

"Now…" Mark put down his drink and looked Lyn dead in the eye. "What did you learn?"

"…I am strong, and I am becoming stronger. But the only way I get stronger is if know my limits; if I fight only the battles I have the strength to win, and avoid the fights I can't until my training is complete."

"Yes," Mark counseled. "When your training is complete, no man who has not achieved _Limit Break_ will be able to stand against you. But the strongest grandmasters aren't grandmasters because of the battles they won along the way. The strongest grandmasters are grandmasters because of the battles they never fought."

"I understand," Lyn put down her mug and for the longest time stared at the hearthfire, saying nothing. "…When do you think that will be?" she finally added.

"A grandmaster may train for many lifetimes in The Outrealms before achieving _Limit Break_. Some will train this way and never achieve it all. Some are simply incapable of achieving it."

"Will I?"

"You have the capability to achieve it; this you should not doubt. If you follow the path I have shown you, you WILL achieve it."

"But When?"

"When and how I cannot say; it is different for everyone," Mark resumed his drinking. "The only hard-rule is that you must first be conditioned to peak human perfection in every attribute; strength of body, keenness of mind, and fortitude of spirit. Then and only then can you break the human limit and reach the next level. Some achieve it through meditation. Others achieve it through heroic feats. Others still achieve it under pressure, in a moment of great grief or trauma. The paths diverge, but they all lead back to the same place."

"… You never told me…How did you do it?" Lyn asked, expecting no answer. (intimate details about his own past were things Mark rarely disclosed)

"Mark?"

"...that's a story for another day…" Mark answered, and Lyn knew then that try as she might to pry he would say no more. "Just as well. I believe we are about to have a guest."

"How do you know?"

"Because I listen," Mark chided. And then there was a knock on the door. "Enter Marcus! What news?"

The door swung open and the Knight-Stewart of Pharae entered scowling. "Milord!" he announced. "There was a commotion in the Great Hall that I thought should be brought to your attention at once. Raven and Lucius were seen being…errrr…intimate. It appears the locals do not share your progressive attitude on such things."

"How appropriate; I was just lecturing Lyn on limits," Mark sighed. "What are the damages?"

"Raven broke a man's nose and destroyed a barstool when they were confronted," Marcus reported. "Lucius mended it and Lord Eliwood paid the innkeeper for the cost of the stool. He handled the situation most diplomatically. We'll be allowed to stay the night, provided there are no more incidents."

"Is that all?"

"No, milord. Theres more," Marcus continued. "I'm afraid the young master was overheard speaking to the innkeeper by Bernese soldiers. He spoke too much like a prince; they now suspect that we have Lycian lords in our company and that we are more than common soldiers-for-hire."

"Have they made a move yet?"

"No. But we are being watched."

"Then we must make our next move carefully," Mark rose.

"Lyndis; leave the inn—quietly—and get to the top of that bell tower we passed. Scout for enemy movement and report back; follow the highroad north by west out of town if we're already gone. Take Guy with you. Marcus; with me!"

The thing about bar fights, Mark knew, was that they escalated quickly and didn't end with gentle apologies. He quickened his stride.

"Your plan?" Marcus asked.

"…gauge the situation and proceed from there. If we're being watched, we are at risk. But leaving quickly will arouse further suspicion," Mark reasoned. "What we do next depends upon the situation in the hall. I would see it myself."

…So see it he did. A man with an icepack on his nose was staring ruefully at a corner bench, where Raven and Lucius were now keeping a prudent distance.

…Dorcas and Oswin were arm-wrestling.

…Canas was attempting to educate Bartre.

…Sain was getting chummy with the serving girls.

…Kent and Fiora were judging Sain.

…Serra and Priscilla were trying to make Florina bet which one of them Erk would fall for first, while Erk sat alone reading his tomes and showing neither of them any interest.

…Rebecca was pretending she was talking to Lowen so that Wil wouldn't ask her to dance.

…Matthew was cheating at a game of dice.

…Hector was…

_Oh Gods No. Damn it, Hector.  
_

And that was the last thought Mark had time to think before he knew exactly what had to be done next and shouted "TO ARMS!"


	3. Chapter 3

Lesson #3: Restraint

"You look like a man who knows how to swing an axe!" A hulking mountain of a man clad in the armor of a Bernese Wyvern Lord and drinking from a horn of mead approached Hector. His bushy red beard and wild mane towered over Hector by a full foot. Two visored and shield-bearing lancers, a swordsman in broiled leathers, and a lanky archer flanked him from the right. A sickly looking old bishop flanked him to the left.

"I hold my own…" Hector drank his ale unbothered.

"I bet you do lad. I bet you do." The armored giant sat himself across from Hector and drank deep from his horn; mead splattering all over his beard and leaving a frothing mess. "Captain Krauss of the 33rd Airborne," he introduced himself. "You remember that name. I'll be the next Wyvern General of Bern; there's nary three men in the country who can stand against my lance."

"Aye; you're a regular Murdock," Hector scoffed. _This oaf would last 2 minutes before Florina knocked him out of the sky if she was inclined to toy with him_.

"Think you could take me boy!?" Krauss slammed an armored fist against the table and spilled more mead. For a moment Hector thought he was about to take a swing at him and he tensed, ready for a brawl… but then Krauss started laughing. "BWAHAHAHA; not the smartest lad, but you've got guts! Whats your name?"

Before Hector could think up a suitable lie or conjure up a retort that showed him just how much guts he had a man in the back of the bar stalked angrily over to a table where Raven and Lucius were sharing a tender kiss, shouting obscenities and crying "PERVERSION!" Raven made an improvised weapon of a barstool and cracked him straight across the nose, saving Hector the trouble of having to hold Krauss's attention with the ensuing commotion.

"A sin and an abomination!" the sickly old Bishop frothed.

"No surprise; see who leads them." Krauss gestured to Eliwood, who with speechcraft that only Eliwood could ever manage had somehow made peace and appeased the innkeeper holding his broken stool. "What's a Lycian lordling doing in Bern with a lady-boy priest and a sword-swallowing sellsword?"

"What other company would the lordling keep?" one of the visored lancers spat. "Bloody Lycians. Pilllow-biters and boy-lovers, all of them."

"Aye…but what's the lord pillow-biter doing in Bern?"

"How do you know he's a Lord of Lycia?" Hector did what he knew Mark would counsel him to do and restrained himself (not without great effort), ignoring the insults to his countrymen and comrades and staying his hand.

"Listen to the boy lord speak; they have a way about them. When a lordling speaks he speaks like a lordling," Krauss watched intently as Eliwood said something to the innkeeper about _just compensations_ and _reasonable expectations of contrition_. "Throw 'em in with a pack of commoners and they stick out like a sore thumb."

"…could be a merchant's son," Hector offered. "Fine gold buys fine schooling."

"And I could be the queen of Bern," Krauss guffawed and polished down the last of his horn. "Wyverns fuck me bloody if that's not a lordling of the league. I know 'em when I see 'em."

_Do you now? _Hector wondered.

"You never told me your name boy," Krauss pressed once more. But again, before Hector could answer, Krauss found something else that better held his interest. "MORE MEAD!" the giant bellowed, and if ever he had cared to learn Hector's name he now cared more for fondling the buxom serving girl who had come to fill his horn.

"Not going to cry sin on this one?" a bemused Hector gestured at Krauss's drunken groping and addressed the sickly old bishop, who was still staring disapprovingly at Raven and Lucius.

"Such lusts are natural." The Bishop responded.

"So is murder and rape…pretty sure the gods still frown upon it..."

"Have you heard the good word of St. Elimine?"

"…I've heard of it."

"…then you have heard that carnal knowledge of another man is a crime against nature and nature's gods."

"So let me get this straight…a drunken whore-son molests a tavern girl he'll never see again after he's had his pleasure and all is well. But two men who love each other share a kiss, and it's a crime against the gods?" Hector took a swig of ale. "Sounds to me like either you're a bit confused, or your gods are."

"You speak bold blasphemies, child."

"What is blasphemy if not bold, ya' old sot?" Krauss dismissed his serving girl with a smack on the rump and gave Hector his undivided attention. "You're something else lad. Really now; who are you?"

"…Best you didn't know…"

"Aye…one of lord pillow-biter's sworn men, are ya? Tell ya what lad; you feel like fighting along side some REAL men, there's a place for you in my squadron. If yer axe is as sharp as that tongue, I don't care where you stick either one of 'em."

"…"

"We're fighting Black Fang. They say they serve the King's Justice, but they're common outlaws. The work is honest and the pay is good. Plenty of gold and plunder to go around!"

"…I'll think about it," Hector lied and rose from the table, lest he start a brawl. His patience was running thin. "I really should be going now."

"At least tell us the lordling's name!" Krauss called after him. "Its not that faggot Hector, is it?"

"…Come again?" Hector turned around and took his seat once more; his urge to leave the scene without committing a wanton act of violence suddenly fading.

"The bastard butch who's been bedding the prince of Pharae," Krauss laughed and drank, no longer entirely sober and still completely unaware who it was he was speaking to.

_Lies and Slander._ "I'm sorry; I didn't catch that." Hector leaned in close. "Say that again." _Say it one more god-damned time…_

" I said Hector Ostia is a pillow-biting, prince-fucking, FAGGOT!"

**CRASSSHHHHH!**

Hector swung ale-in-hand and a glass mug shattered against Krauss's face, leaving cutting shards imbedded from jaw to brow.

"He hit the captain!"

"Cheeky bastard!"

"…Right then…We'll have your head for that…"

"TO ARMS!" Mark's rallying call rang out across the great hall. The innkeeper hid behind his counter. Patrons fled. And Hector watched helplessly as Krauss of the 33rd Airborne, his two visored and shield-bearing lancers, his swordsman in broiled leathers, his lanky archer, and his sickly old bishop were put to the sword.

* * *

"This was completely unnecessary." Mark scolded; the bloody business concluded. "These men died because you could not restrain yourself."

"They said…"

"…I don't care if he said your mother is a street-whore and every man among them had a go at her. Eliwood had the right of it; DISENGAGE!"

"I did. I mean…I was…but then…" Hector flustered, at a loss for words. "I DID restrain myself the entire time they were talking ill of Lycia and the Lords of the League and The Company…"

"…And now they're dead. An act of restraint abandoned is as good as no restraint at all." Mark plucked one of Rebecca's arrows from the sickly old bishop for emphasis. "The power I am training you to wield…when you have mastered it the only difference between who survives crossing your path and who does not will be your judgment and your control. I need to know that your judgment is sound and that your control cannot be so easily overcome."

"Not EASILY," Hector protested.

"Easy enough if the ramblings of a drunken oaf can move you to blows…" Mark rattled off everything Hector should have thought of but didn't before Krauss's words had gotten the better of him. "…Knowing he was a knight commander of Bern. Knowing that a strike against him would start a battle that need not be fought. Knowing that the battle would be fought in the presence of witnesses who suspect Eliwood's lordship. Knowing that unless those witnesses are silenced, they will tell tales of how a company of lord-led Lycians waltzed into Bernese territory and murdered six servants of the crown. And knowing how Bern will move against Lycia when they receive such news."

"…T-That's…I didn't think…" Hector paled as the gravity of Mark's words sunk.

"Exactly! YOU DIDN"T THINK!" Mark berated. "If I swing a sword or cast a spell, it is because I have pondered every foreseeable consequence of my actions and determined that so doing advances my purposes. If you cannot say the same, RESTRAIN YOURSELF!"

"..."

"What did you hope to achieve by striking that man?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to hit him. But only because he…"

"…I don't care. Whatever he did to provoke you, his provocation was meaningless until you gave it meaning. And the meaning you gave it was THIS." Mark plucked another arrow from the slit of a dead man's visor (Rebecca was in rare form).

"…You're not really going to kill everyone who heard Eliwood speak to the innkeeper, are you?"

"I told you," Mark repeated coldly, "If I swing a sword or cast a spell, it is because I have pondered every foreseeable consequence of my actions."

"You can't." Hector pleaded "…don't put that on me. The fault was mine; they shouldn't have to die because I…"

"…Don't talk. Watch." Mark instructed. Purposefully, he strode closer to the bar counter…closer to the innkeeper and serving girls hiding behind….

_Oh no…please gods, don't let him…_

"SIR LOWEN; TO ME!" Mark called the shaggiest and least recognizable of his knights to his side, lest the visage of his more renowned and distinguished sirs draw unwanted recognition. "The Lord _DARIN_ hath commanded that any man of Bern who learns our purpose here or discovers our identity, unless sworn to our cause, be put to death." Mark made sure he spoke loud enough to be overheard by persons hiding behind the bar. "You heard him yourself, did you not?"

"I did so m'ilord." Lowen played along, knowing that Mark was up to something.

"We will not follow this order tonight; as applied to this inn it would barbaric and cruel. Such behavior would be most unbecoming in the service of _LAUS_; I will tell the Lord_ DARIN_ myself if he questions us and take full responsibility for this defiance," Mark spoke. Loudly. "Spread the word to every man loyal to LAUS; we take our leave without further incident. Onward now; the league isn't going to rebel against itself!" _**Let them tell that tale.**_

"YOU HEARD THE MAN!" Lowen shouted, playing his part as well as Mark could have hoped. "FORWARD; MARCH!"

"Matthew…a moment…" Mark returned to Hector and called the thief into his service; quietly and with such discretion that only Hector would overhear. Stealthily, he removed a scroll under seal from the fold of his robes and passed it off to the crafty little man. "This document contains evidence of Laus's treachery, and proof that the Lord Darin's movements are unsanctioned by the League of Lords. See to it that before we depart, it 'mistakenly' finds its way into the innkeeper's possession."

"Darin is dead," Matthew pointed out.

"No one but us yet knows he fell on the Dread Isle," _We did well to keep that secret_. "If anyone asks, he was last spotted leading a host up the Northroad."

"…Understood…" Matthew pocketed the scroll and snuck away to complete his task.

"..."

"Something on your mind Hector?" Mark cocked an eyebrow.

"...I really thought you were going to kill them…" the color finally started to return to Hector's face. Having that on his conscience would have been crushing.

"I thought about it," Mark admitted. "I could have. I had every reason to. And I didn't."

"Why?"

"…I restrained myself…" Mark smiled wryly. "Best be off now; I'm afraid we've worn out our welcome."


	4. Chapter 4

Lesson #4: Purpose

"How's this!" Lyn crowed; green spirit-energy flaring around her and collecting along the edge of her blade.

"…Better…" _Better than Eliwood's or Hector's at any rate._ She at least grasped the call of the technique and its form and function.

"...This doesn't feel right..." Eliwood glowed red-hot and his longsword shimmered, but remained otherwise unchanged.

"…I'm not getting anything..." Hector succeeded only in making a handful of sparks dance across his axe. He stole a look at Lyndis. "How does she bloody do that?"

"I'll show it to you again," Mark crouched and cleared his mind and focused. Since the trouble at the inn, he had thought it best to abandon the more traveled roads and move unnoticed through Bern's uninhabited highlands. Traversing the untamed wilderness presented its own share of troubles, but also a fair share of opportunities. Chief among them being the opportunity to demonstrate and teach some of his more…explosive…powers, from ridges and crags where none would be disturbed.

"How does HE bloody do that!?" Eliwood grunted and gasped through the stress of his exertions. Seemingly without effort, Mark glowed pink then hot-pink then deep fuchsia then erupted in magnificent flames.

"The power flows from the core and materializes through the motions," Mark instructed. "Focus not on how your body moves. This should be as second nature; the body knows its own movements. Focus on WHY your body moves. The force-of-will that separates action from inaction. The animating spirit through which the mind knows the body and the body receives the mind. The sense of purpose that kindles the spirit and occupies the mind and drives the body…"

Fiercely ablaze and radiating power, Mark made a one-handed shoving motion that stripped an evergreen bear with the wall of force it released.

"When purpose occupies the mind completely and drives the body without thought, mind and body are as one and spirit moves through their union. Mind knows the spirit as it would know the body, and body receives the spirit as it would receive the mind. Body and spirit attack as one with the fire of the soul; this is _**IGNIS**_."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Hector threw down his axe if frustration. "HOW DO YOU MOVE WITHOUT THINKING ABOUT MOVING!?"

"If you don't understand then you should not be here," Mark relaxed and his _Ignis _dispersed. "Hector Ostia; You are not yet ready to study this technique." _I told you as much when I began instructing Eliwood. This lesson is beyond you. _

"LYN is ready! I'm way stronger than she is!"

"In body, and only in body. If you do not know why that is insufficient then you truly have not understood a word I've said."

"_Ignis _requires unity of mind and body; unity requires balance. The greater the gap between the two the less usable the technique becomes," Lyn parroted, aglow and experimenting with shaping her spirit-energy into usable forms (focusing her power into her sword had been simple enough; figuring out how to launch it was proving far more difficult). "Increasing the power of your body without increasing the power of your mind makes it harder to learn then if you hadn't increased the power of your body at all. That's why your technique is shit."

"Woman…I will flay you…"

"Once I get the hang of this, you're never hitting me again."

"Florina seems to have gotten the hang of it…" Eliwood (still struggling just to gleam red) marveled as the tiny little girl exploded in flames of gold and, with the thrust of a spear, launched a pillar of light that flew clear across the ravine and blasted a chunk of granite from the face of an overhanging bluff.

"When I met her in Sacae she could barely heft a slim lance and was afraid of her own shadow…incredible…" Lyn could hardly believe it.

Everyone's growth rate was different; Mark had said so, and Lyn had seen it time and again (Raven had somehow managed to learn as many of Mark's tricks in two months as she had learned in two years). But at some point, all the lessons and lectures had clicked for Florina in a way that they had not yet clicked for anyone else. And since then her growth had been like nothing human.

"She is beginning pass the curve," Mark affirmed. _And almost ready for what comes next. This is not the same girl I found cowering from brigands in Taverley. _"You lot would do well not to fall too far behind."

"…This is hard…" Lyn collapsed in an exhausted heap; her Ignis unmade without materializing into a single attack.

"…This is impossible…" Eliwood stopped glowing and plopped down beside Lyn. He had hit a hard limit; his head throbbed and fevered and his body ached all over, and he had not so much as flickered with soul's fire.

"YOU should not be struggling so," Mark regarded Eliwood curiously. Better than any other—certainly better than Lyn or Florina—he had grasped the concept of _balance_. Mark had never before pegged Eliwood as a man of weak ideals, but... "You have achieved perfect harmony of the three forms. If your _Ignis_ fails, it can only be because you do not yet have the strength of conviction to move the soul through the union of mind and body."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you lack PURPOSE. You move as one who does not know what he believes in or if he can believe, or doubts his own beliefs. Until you have a cause worth fighting for and a conviction that moves your soul, you can advance no further."

"…Are we talking about the same Eliwood?" Hector asked, puzzled. Ask any lordling who knew him what the prince's faults were and they might say he was too trusting. Or too gentle. Or too hesitant to speak truthfully when an ugly truth might shock or offend. None would ever say he lacked purpose or conviction or questioned his beliefs.

"Why DO you swing your blade?" Mark asked plainly.

"To protect Lycia."

"Ten thousand fledgling knights could give the same answer. Why do YOU swing your blade?"

"For the honor of House Pharae. For my lord father and his lord father, and his lord father before him; for the people they lived to serve and the legacy they left me. For truth and justice and the rule of law."

"…Thirteen families control all the wealth in Lycia while the rest live in shit and squalor; the farmhands sow their fields and the blacksmiths forge their steel and the tailors spin their silks, and the lords sit in their castles passing the fruit of their labor from one favored son to the next under color of law. That this is the natural order of things they call 'truth,' and if one among them thinks to give back a fraction of their plunder in protection against thieves and rapers they call it 'justice.'"

"Without the League of Lords there would be anarchy," Eliwood bristled at the reproach and recited his childhood lessons in civics. "There would be no wealth to protect; every grain and cloth and metalwork would be an invitation to robbers. Bandits and warlords would lay claim to the realm by barbarism. People would make only what they could hold on their persons or defend by force of arms. The league brings protection. The league brings order. The league brings prosperity."

"You have seen the cobblers of Arcadia live as the exarchs, and a jury of artisans sit in judgment over a sage. LAW brings protection and order and prosperity," Mark corrected. "Do you still believe that the nobles live as they live for the good of those who pay the upkeep of their decadence? That the people would suffer greatly if the work of courts and castles were done in town halls; if the wealth of the Great Houses flowed through their shops and markets instead of adorning throne rooms and sitting in vaults?"

"…"

"FLOINA!" Mark called the girl to his side. "Why do you fight?"

"How do you mean?" Florina asked perplexed.

"The moment you called out _Ignis_, what were you thinking?" Mark clarified. "What purpose moved you?"

"…I-I-I just…remembered something that happened a long time ago, back In Ilia, when I was really little," Florina began nervously. "Father hadn't left yet and mother was still alive; I couldn't have been more than three or four."

"…go on…"

"It had been a bad winter. The harvest was slim; we ran out of grain by mid-December. The trade roads were snowed in and the pine's grove was iced over, so no one could hunt or buy meat or chop firewood. Everyone was cold and hungry." It had been 12 years ago and still she remembered it so very clearly. The snowdrifts had been taller than she was; greybeards who had lived in Ilia since the reign of Queen Yuya swore that it had been the coldest winter ever.

"By January we were desperate," Florina continued the tale. "We heard that the queen was hosting a summit of southern lords at the royal conclave; it was said that the queen's granaries were overflowing, and that the King of Bern and the High Lord of Ostia and the Archbishop of Etruria would be bringing meat and mead from every corner of Elibe for a grand feast. Someone had the idea to raid the granaries and make a meal of the lord's bounty…and w-w-well…the lord's didn't take to kindly to that. They fancied us a street mob and set their knights on us. Farina came back from the raid with a sack of potatoes and a rack of boar. Fiora came back with a broken rib and an arrow through the knee. I just remembered that. Then I started thinking that if I was as strong Mark I could have emptied the granaries myself and Fiora wouldn't have gotten hurt and no one would have had to die for a sack of potatoes. Then I started glowing…"

"…"

"…Florina…I never knew…"

"…That's…."

"That is why her_ Ignis_ pierces the mountain, and yours cannot spark a blade." Mark was about to lecture further, but he stopped when he saw something on Eliwood's face that he had never seen before. He had seen righteous anger the day bandits attacked Rebecca's village. He had seen hurt and betrayal the day Eric declared rebellion against the League. He had seen sorrow the day Nergal had possessed Ninian and murdered his father. He had never seen something that looked like anger and betrayal and sorrow all as one and as something more.

**VRRR-OOOOO VVVRRRR-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!**

The horn of returning blared, and the away-party that Mark had sent to treat with Lord Uther rode back into camp. Sir Marcus reported to the lord tactician to give his account and to relay word from Lycia, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Eliwood and knew at once that his liege lord was in distress.

"M'ilord; are you unwell!?"

Eliwood gave no indication that he had heard him, though he clearly had, and stalked away up a rocky mountain road.

"Leave him. He needs to be alone right now," Mark counseled. "What word from Uther?"

"…Same as last…" Marcus would have pressed the matter further and insisted that he be at Eliwood's side, lest the young lord be besieged. But he knew full well (though it pained him to admit so) that any threat his lance could answer was no threat to Eliwood at all. Under Mark's tutelage, the lordling had long since surpassed the old knight. "The League still cares more for Darin's betrayal than talk of dragons and dark magic. Etruria prays, and Bern is unmoved."

"As expected," Mark was disappointed. He couldn't say he was surprised. "Lady Louise and Lord Pent?"

"Queen Helen has given them an audience. She seems inclined to rally to our cause. But King Desmond remains incalcitrant; she will not be able to retrieve the Fire Emblem without him."

"Of course she will_." It's a matter of motive, not a matter of ability. _"The legacy weapons?"

"Lord Uther has consented to unseal Roland's Tomb and sent a knight brigade to Ilia in search of the _Malta_. Athos continues his search for Elimine's lost verses."

"And what of Nergal?"

"No word since the Dread Isle m'ilord. The garrisons are deploying wards as per your instruction, but the men say it is a fool's errand. In the barracks they whisper that Nergal is a warmonger's boogeyman, and your wards are a charlatan's trick meant to garner favor with the High Lord."

"They'll believe he's real enough when an army of morphs teleports into one of their castles." _People believe what they want to believe. _"Anything else?"

"There is…one other matter…" Marcus advised. "We encountered renegades on the road to Lord Uther's camp. Nothing the troops couldn't handle; we routed them easily enough. But there was one among them who surrendered to Lady Priscilla and requested to speak with our commander. He wants to join the company."

"You brought him back?"

"Aye, m'ilord. He seemed like a trustworthy fellow; laid down his arms when his commander ordered him to butcher maidenfolk and said he would sooner die like a man then live like a beast."

_Oh. He's one of those. _"Promising new students are always welcome in my camp. Wastes of time are not."

"The boy knows how to sit a wyvern and move in armor. He did well enough to face Sir Oswin's lance and live to speak of it."

"Bring him to the proving grounds and administer The Test," Mark instructed and turned away. _I really should talk to Eliwood before someone else gets to him. He's no good like this. _"I'll tend to our new recruit shortly."

"Who will be his opponent?"

"Pit him against Florina and see how long he puffs and protests before he realizes what he's up against," Mark called back. "If he figures it out before she starts glowing, he's already ahead of the game."

* * *

Mark found him at the top of the mountain, still wearing that same look of anger and betrayal and sorrow and glowing brighter than before. The rock around him had liquefied from the heat of his spirit-energy, and his red-hot shimmer had combusted into true fire of the soul.

"…my father was at that feast…" Eliwood spoke absently. "He said there was some _trouble in the streets._ He said the unity of purpose and common cause that lords of every house and creed found in bringing _peace to the mobs_ gave him hope for a better future."

"..."

"…that was the day I decided he was the noblest man I had ever known. That I wanted to be just like him. That I…t-t-t-hat I-I-I…"

Eliwood released something that sounded like a cross between a sob and a war cry. For the briefest of moments his_ Ignis _outshone the sun, and when he swung his longsword the fire it released split the mountain in twain.

"You have found you purpose then?"

"…Never again…" Eliwood resolved, and in that moment Mark saw not a boy lord coming of age but a man grown. "I swing my sword so that no child will have to tell that story ever again."


	5. Chapter 5

Lesson #1 Revisited

"Who's the new kid?" Raven couldn't help but notice there was a man he had never seen before leaving the company's armory with castle-forged steel, and no one thought to stop him.

"Some rouge smitten by your sweet sister on the road to Uther's," Sir Sain answered. "Marcus seems to think he has potential. He's testing him against Florina."

_Oh...this should be good. _"She'll kill him."

"Our fair Florina is far too gentle to do such a thing. She'll just bloody him up a bit."

"Did anyone tell him?"

"I suspect not. That's the test."

"…Poor bastard…" Raven shook his head. "What's this about Priscilla?"

"He surrendered to her personally."

"Did he now?"

"It was completely platonic…or so I'm told…"

"Meh."

"Meh?"

"…anything to turn her attention from that snotty little mage…"

* * *

"Really now Kent; I don't see what the big deal is."

"A man of unknown ability is about to fight Florina; are you not alarmed!?"

"Alarmed for the man perhaps," Fiora laughed. "Gods above; I still can't believe how strong she's gotten. I was always the one who protected HER."

"She would not have grown so if you hadn't done such a fine job of it. But still…"

"Florina will be fine," _better then fine_. "If there's alarm to be had, it's that we've fallen so far behind her."

"That shame is mine and mine alone; you have not known Mark's training long enough to fall behind."

"There's no shame in it," Fiora smiled. "Some might say it's a blessing in disguise; if you had not been my equal when I joined the company and hadn't made for such a perfect sparring partner, we never would have become so…close…"

"I'd like to think it was more than my inability to progress as fast as your sister that brought us together, milady," Kent blushed.

"Of course not!" _You're sweet and noble and brave…and that cute butt didn't hurt either…_

* * *

"What if he wins?" Serra chattered.

" …he's not going to win…" Rebecca said matter-of-factly.

"Right. But what if he does?"

"If he wins, I will kiss Wil."

"Ewww," Serra gagged. "Why would you even…"

"…because he's not going to win…"

* * *

"Take this one," a rough-looking swordsman approached Heath with a crested full-helm and a scowl that seemed to be his permanent facial expression.

"I don't wear full helms," Heath rebuffed. "I'd rather have my full field of vision."

"Ever seen a vertical hit from a killer lance split a man's skull open?"

"…Can't say that I have…"

"…Right. You're going to want the full-helm," the swordsman unceremoniously chucked the armor in lieu of a more formal greeting. "Name's Raven. If you pass the test, I'll be seeing you around."

"What exactly is this test?" the soldiers Heath had talked to were all being tight-lipped or talking in cryptics.

"Just a way of seeing if you can see with your eyes."

"That's what the archer girl and the pig-tailed cleric said. But what does that even mean?" Heath asked. "Doesn't everyone see with their eyes?"

"Have you met Mark yet?"

"Who?"

"I'll take that as a _No_. He'll explain it better after he has a look at you, but here's the gist of it," Raven explained. "Most men do not see with their eyes. They see with their memories…with their expectations…with their biases….the eyes merely provide the picture to be seen."

"...I don't understand..."

"A boy sees a man with a tattoo abuse his sister. The boy becomes a man of the watch. Now when this watchman sees a man with a tattoo he thinks him wicked and moves against him though he has done no wrong, because the man does not see with his eyes. He sees what he expects to see, and what he expects to see is a man with a tattoo being a scoundrel. A soldier fights a man who is weak and who is easily overcome by his strength of arms. Now he encounters a man on another battlefield who looks like him, and he knows nothing of his strength but feels he can easily best him. He does not see with his eyes and cannot see that he is outmatched. Savvy?"

"So it's a test of perception then? Not a test of strength?"

"Strength is something that can be acquired easily enough from conditioning of the body; at least the kind you're thinking of. You will find that our commander looks for…other attributes…"

"RAVEN; STOP FRATERNIZING WITH THE NEW RECRUIT!" Marcus bellowed. "YOU BOY; INTO THE DUELING PIT!"

"Good luck kid," Raven patted Heath on the shoulder and stalked off to join the crowd gathering to watch the spectacle of his hazing.

Heath took his place inside the makeshift arena. Upon Marcus's instruction to take his weapon of choice, he selected a simple steel lance from the arms rack. Nothing fancy or flashy; but familiar enough for comfort, and the balance of its weight felt right in his hands.

A girl who could not have been more than 130 lbs. or a quarter over 5 feet tall selected a blade-tipped "killer" variant of the polearm and gave it a twirl as she fluttered over to the opposing side.

"THE TEST HAS NOW BEGUN; THE CANDIDATE SHALL HAVE THE FIRST STRIKE AT HIS READY!"

"Against whom?"

"Your opponent," Marcus glowered.

"Behind the little girl?"

"I am your opponent!" the girl called out and waved her lance.

"…Is this a joke…"

"You're a joke!" a green-clad knight in the crowd taunted.

"Come on Florina; kick his ass!" the archer girl shouted.

_Gods; they're serious._ "Oh come on now. I'm not _that _green. Give me a REAL opponent; one I can't topple with a shove!"

Raucous laughter greeted Heath's declaration.

"Is no one concerned for the girl!?"

More raucous laughter followed.

"This isn't even fair…I mean…LOOK at her!"

"Aye; completely unfair," the green-clad knight agreed mockingly.

"A horrid mismatch," his companion in red concurred with a hint of snark.

"How cruel of our commander to arrange so savage a display," a woman with a thick Ilian accent and the same mocking tone joined the chorus of ridicule.

"…Any time now…" Sir Marcus was unmoved.

Heath was about to protest further; throw down his lance, declare that he would never do something so abhorrent as strike at a helpless young girl, and demand a foe he could fight without disgracing himself. But then his eye caught the way Florina held her stance and twirled her lance and stared him down, and something told him that this would be a very bad idea.

_Most men see with their memories and their expectations and their biases. See with your eyes._

"…The girl has skill enough to take the field…" Heath understood. He took his stance and moved his lance to the ready. "Very well; I won't hold back too much. HAVE AT THEE!" he charged and thrusted.

He couldn't say when it happened. He was certain he never took his eyes off the girl. But all at once her body was no longer centered at the point of this thrust, her twirling lance was coming down in a vertical arc, and his full-helm was split down the middle.

"…Oh…" was all a staggered and bloodied Heath had time to say before Florina started glowing gold. And then he was completely overwhelmed by her attacks_._

* * *

"How'd he do?" the first thing Mark did when he came down from the mountain was seek out Sir Marcus.

"Better than most, although I suspect only because Raven tipped him off. It's almost as though the lout was TRYING to tamper with the test."

"Now why would Raven go and do a thing like that?" Mark mused.

"Couldn't say m'ilord. You'd have to ask him yourself."

"That will hardly be necessary. Where is Sir Heath now?"

"Still in healing; Lady Priscilla is tending to him. Much longer than she normally tends to the lightly wounded…"

_There it is._ "Have him see me when he's done. I'll bring him up to speed on Nergal and our quest for the Emblem; if he still wishes to join us then I'll find a use for him in the next battle."

"About the next battle…" Marcus began cautiously. "Word around the camp is that you mean to march on Serpent's Steppe and challenge The Fang in their own Keep."

"I may be planning something of the sort," Mark did not deny it.

"If I may be so bold…"

"Say what you mean, Marcus."

"Here the name of The Fang conjures tales not of assassins and cutthroats, but of folk-heroes and favored sons. The maidens of Adennar sigh for the White Wolf. The men of Fallon's Mill boast of battles fought in the company of the Rabid Hound. They are loved by the people; every village within 40 leagues will be fiercely loyal to them."

"What of it?"

"If you mean to rout them in the field, I do not doubt that you have the capability to do so. But should we fight them in their freeholds, villager and fang will be one-in-the-same and every cottage will be as a serpent's nest. If we win the day, it will not be without such ravaging of the commons as to make us the greater villains."

"I do not mean to fight them in their freeholds."

"And they do not mean to meet us in the field."

"If it comes to blows, we will fight them in a way that does not require us to make monsters of ourselves," Mark assured. "First I would try a different approach."

"How so?"

"By all accounts, Sonia has the Black Fang in her thrall; none among them suspect that they are pawns in Nergal's game," Mark pondered. "I think it's time we had a little chat with Brendan Reed."


	6. Chapter 6

Lesson #5: Concealment

"So wait; we're going to march on Fanghold, find Brendan Reed, and bring him to parlay…how exactly?" Lyn had never known a Mark-plan to have so many _**if**_s, _**it depend**_s_, _and _**we'll see when we get there**_s

"This is either the worst plan you've ever come up with, or there's something you're not telling us." Eliwood too found the lack of details suspicious.

"…"

"What aren't you telling us?"

"I have an informant inside the Black Fang," Mark admitted.

"HAD an informant inside the Black Fang," Hector scowled. "Leila's dead."

"I have another informant inside the Black Fang."

"Since when!?" Eliwood was scandalized

"Since Valor. When we fought at the Dragon's Gate, there was a high-level defector who saw that the Black Fang was a sinking ship. He wanted to join us," Mark explained. "I persuaded him he would be of better use to us on the inside, and promised that when he got out he would find protection among our ranks. He's been feeding us ever since."

"And you're JUST telling us this now?" Lyn was scandalized.

"The fewer people who knew the better; Matthew has been operating at the highest level of discretion to relay our communications in secrecy."

"MATTHEW knew!?" Hector was scandalized.

"You disapprove?" Mark feigned concern.

"…You should have told us…" Eliwood frowned.

"When you sit your father's throne, will you tell your councilman and your retainers every move you make?"

"Of course. I must have their trust and they must have mine if I am to rule justly."

"Then you are a fool. You three will rule countries one day; learn this now and it will serve you well. You especially, Eliwood, if you wish to rule for the purpose that moves you," Mark lectured. "There will come a time when advancing your purposes will require secrecy; times when success or failure hinges on whether or not your purpose is discovered. Remember always that the more people who know the secret—friend or foe—the harder it is to keep. Three men are a conspiracy. Four men are known schemers."

"…So we're conspiring now?" Lyn didn't like it one bit.

"…Scheming…" Mark smiled softly. "The conspiring was done before you caught wind of it."

"Great; we have schemes and secrets. How does that get us to Brendan Reed?" Hector asked bluntly.

"How indeed?"

"Oh for god's sake; JUST TELL US ALREADY!"

"Peace, Hector." Mark counseled. "Impatience makes for poor scheming."

"…That's why you're taking us through Adennar…" Eliwood realized. He knew there had to be a reason why Mark, after insisting upon an unseen approach and taking them roundabout through the pinelands, was now marching them straight through the most heavily populated province in Bern. "…There is no plan until you meet with the informant. You still need to make contact."

"Aye; that's the right of it," _at least one of them has a brain._ "So the plan for now is 'don't get thrown out of another inn.' **HECTOR**."

"What…that was ONE time…"

"That absolutely cannot happen again," Mark declared. "Last time we covered your folly with secrets. This time it is our secrets that must be covered; if folly draws eyes to them we are unmade."

"There will be no folly." Eliwood assured.

"YOU keep your head down and your mouth shut. Speak only when spoken to and answer in simple yes no's; even when you TRY to play the humble journeyman you sound like a damn prince."

"I'll make sure they behave," Lyn promised.

"And YOU wear something decent. The last thing we need is gawkers."

"…this garb is my heritage…" Lyndis glared.

"…and on any other night I would tell you to wear it proud and gut-check any man who has something to say about it," Mark did not begrudge the woman her Sacaen pride. "But tonight you're going to wear wools and leathers. We'll look like proper soldiers. We'll sound like proper soldiers. We'll act like proper soldiers. No one will have reason to suspect we're anything other than proper soldiers."

"Soooooo…not the night to see if Florina has feelings for me?"

"…Hector…I will geld you…"

* * *

The march to Adennar took three days longer than expected. A summer storm had flooded the trade roads, and again all that could be done about it was to take to the highlands and find a roundabout through the torrent.

On the first day the storming did not cease. The game trails turned to muck and mess and Merlinus's cart caught a wheel in the thick of it. It took the better part of an hour to heave it free. The forest was too damp to build a fire pit, and the river too violent to bathe. The company marched cold and muddy and hungry. Come nightfall the chill set in.

Lyn and Florina shared a sleeping bag…for "warmth."

Wil proposed that he and Rebecca do the same, and Rebecca told him where to shove his sleeping bag.

Lucius opined that the rains brought new life and were a heavenly blessing, and Raven wondered out loud if the gods were pissing on them.

By the second night, the storm relented and the river calmed. The trail was still muddy and progress was slow. But the march was not so miserable as the day before.

Rebecca feathered a wild boar on the hunt.

Lowen butchered the animal and served it glazed in honey and ale; the company feasted well on sweet-hams and a hardy stew of beefstock and barley (the boy hadn't learned a damn thing of swordplay or lancefaire, but was showing all the signs of a master chef in the making).

Sain "accidentally" stumbled upon Serra and Priscilla bathing.

Serra demonstrated that a mending stave could be used for bashing as well as healing.

On the third day the trail began to dry, and the company was finally able to make up for lost time. They broached the gates of Adennar by evenfall and found the town in a state of commotion; three youths dangling by the neck from a hangman's noose and a mob of townsfolk jeering.

"For what crime were these men hung?" Mark asked.

"Conspiring with the Lord Darin in the murder of kingsmen," answered a sly-faced man who somehow blended in so seamlessly with the mob—hiding in plain sight—that no one but Mark noticed he was armed to the teeth and wearing the colors of the Black Fang until he spoke. "It is said that the Marquess of Laus is in Bern, raising an army against The League. This of course is impossible. Now who do you suppose could be spreading such a tale?"

"Surely someone who has much to gain from it…" Mark eyed the dangling bodies thoughtfully. "Did they have anything to say of their co-conspirators?"

"…Not a word…"

"Most unfortunate." Mark chose his next words carefully. Crowds had ears. "If perchance a man had an ear for such tales, where do loose tongues tell them?"

"Sailors and whores wag loose tongues at the Fishhead's Inn," the ex-Fang understood. "But if a man wishes to speak without being overheard, he goes to the Hook and Cleaver when a champion takes the sands. Nothing to be heard over the roar of the crowd."

_Oh, hes good. _"Thank you good sir," Mark took his leave and the man melted back into the crowd.

"…What was that all about?" a perplexed Eliwood spoke up.

"Your vows, _Brother Ewell._" Mark had concealed Eliwood in a common brown sack of cloth that could barely be called a robe and dirtied him with soot from the campfire—even given him a fake name and a new identity—but no one was going to believe he was a penitent who had taken a vow of silence **if he kept talking.**

"…I take it that's our man…" Hector said most indiscreetly.

"We're here for a pit fight; what are you babbling about?" _Stop. Talking._

"…You said we were here to_…"_

Lyn jabbed him in the gut with the hilt of the Mani Katti, and Hector fell silent.

"Your orders, **Sir**," Lyn looked every bit a soldier-for-hire in greaves and vambrances and light armor, and even sounded the part.

_Now if only she'd learn how to use it in a fight instead of just dressing the part._

"…I do believe we're going to pick a fight with an arena champion."

* * *

When 10 men fell to Raven's broadsword in a grand melee, the pit master finally thought to match him against a swordmaster worth the honorific.

"Speak freely friend," Mark had to shout just to be heard over the din of bloodsport. _Nothing to be heard over the roar of the crowd; no kidding._

"Linus and Lloyd suspect Sonia of treachery, but the Commander is as a man entranced. The witch has a spell on him." Legault reported.

"Where is he now?"

"At Fanghold. He will never leave; Sonia keeps him there. She gives the orders from Nergal and Brendan says they are his own as she bids him."

"…the Brothers Reed do not move against her?"

"They wouldn't dare; Not without proof. They know little of Nergal and nothing of morphs. The things we saw on Valor they would not believe."

"Then we must make them believe," Mark saw no other way. "Can you arrange a meeting?"

"Sonia gave the order to kill you and Brendan put the Fang's name to it," Legault informed, and looked down on arena sands as Raven pressed the attack. "You'll meet soon enough. Better hope the rest of your men can fight like that one when you do."

"He is one of my…better students…" Mark neglected to mention that he had four better. "But that's neither here nor there. I would prefer to meet on friendly terms. Can it be done?"

"...If you could provide proof of their suspicions…"

"What kind of proof?"

"Show them you are not who Sonia says you are," Legault said plainly.

"And what exactly does Sonia say of us?"

"That you are murderers and thieves. That you burn villages, rape their women, and sell their children to slavers."

"…"

"There is a man who is all these things and worse; Sir Ferguson Pascall, Lord of the Fallow Fens. The Crazed Beast ,they call him. Men raise his banner for fear of what will happen if they don't and speak in hushed whispers of his bloody revels; they say that he once slaughtered an entire table of dinner guests just to use their skulls as puppets. The brothers mean to put him down before they turn their sights on you, but if they should find their work already done and the Fens unplundred…"

Raven's broadsword struck a killing blow, and the roar of the crowd became deafening.

…_And none shall be the wiser…_


	7. Chapter 7

Lesson #6: Wielding Power

"Bog terrain—wet and messy—impassible, but-for a dry strip down the center," Eliwood took the lay of the land as he had learned from watching Mark in battles prior. "Pascall's Keep sits due north from the throughway, with a wall of knight-forts and heavy cavalry in between. River pirates move throughout the bog; they will attack the moment they see a chance to plunder. To the west; woodlands and a mercenary fort. They fly Pascall's banner. To the east; mountains and a monastery of light mages. Also flying Pascall's banner. No passable route through the mountains by land, and a squadron of pegasus knights holds the peak."

"Ilian mercenaries in The Beast's employ?" There was no foe Lyn hated facing more. She had heard enough tales from Florina of why Ilians turned to mercenary work to feel for them, and nothing was more dangerous than feeling for the enemy.

"Safe to assume," Eliwood nodded. "Also safe to assume they saw us before we saw them and are prepared for our approach."

"There's also a small village south of the monastery," Hector noted. "If it is plundered during the fighting The Fang will think Sonia's slanders true; we'll need men at the gate to ward off looters."

"Much to do and more that can go wrong," Mark knew how he would proceed. But as of late, he had taken to letting the lords plan the battles with the skills he had taught them and intervening only when they stumbled or missed a vital detail. Each had their own unique approach to planning. And while any one of them alone would have gotten the company killed with the schemes they concocted, what one would miss the other two would usually pick-up on. "How would you have us move?"

"Their cavalry will charge down the center strip," that much was obvious to Eliwood. "The throughway is narrow; they won't be able to break upon us more than three horsemen abreast. That's where we'll deploy our heavy armor. We can halt the bulk of their forces with but a few of our own, and leave the rest of the company free to clear the field."

"The monastery will send light mages westward to reinforce the cavalry; we can't reach them before the cavalry breaks, and our armor is useless against their spells." Hector voiced his concerns. "We'll need more than knights and shields to hold the lines against them."

"…can't reach them by LAND…" Lyn saw another way. "A high-level fighter who can shrug off shinings and fly over the bog could hit the monastery as the mages deploy and take them down before they ever join the cavalry on the front."

"…Florina?" Eliwood questioned.

"…Florina…" Lyn nodded.

"If Florina hits the monastery, who defends the village?" Hector dissented.

"Florina could warn the village on the way to the monastery," Lyn offered.

"Florina is going to stop a bandit raid AND sack a monastery before mages join the front?" Hector wasn't buying it.

"…We could send Fiora…" Eliwood floated the idea.

"She's not strong enough to hold her own against an entire pack of bandits," Hector scoffed.

"…No…but she wears elysian armor and deflects magic just as well as Florina. Better even," Lyn brought the pieces of the plan together. We send Florina and Fiora out together to clear the bog; Fiora breaks north to hit the monastery. Florina breaks south to guard the village…"

"…Armor holds the center, and light infantry moves wes to take the mercenary fort," Eliwood added the finishing touch. "Lyndis; the west watch is yours. Take Erk, Serra, Guy, Matthew, Dorcas, and Bartre."

"You and Hector in the center then?"

"Aye; we'll command from the front. And Mark…will watch from the caravans and do nothing unless the battle starts going poorly…." it wasn't a command, so much as an observation of Mark's conduct in every battle since the Port of Badon.

"Good?" the trio looked to Mark for his word of approval.

"…what about the pegasus knights on the mountain?" Mark said in his _you missed something important _voice.

"…oh those…" Eliwood wracked his brain. "…they can hit us anywhere…"

"…that they can…" Mark challenged the lords to plan around it.

"If they hit the center its nothing our main force can't handle," Hector reasoned. "If they hit west, Dorcas and Bartre stop them. If they hit the village…Florina...and if they hit the monastery…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…Shit…" Hector saw the hole in the plan. "We can't send Fiora alone. She needs back-up."

"…Heath?" Lyn suggested.

"Still too green," the new recruit was showing tremendous growth. But Eliwood wouldn't risk him on the front lines yet.

"No one else is getting over the mountain or through the bog…unless Fiora or Florina carries them…" Hector didn't see how that could work.

"Pair Rebecca with Fiora and fly her to the monastery," Lyn found the answer. "She out-ranges any spell with her longbow…"

"…and if the pegasus knights think to target the monastery, they'll think otherwise when hey see what she can do with it," Hector caught on. "That covers all bases."

"A sound plan," Mark approved. "Make it work."

"This might be our greatest strategy yet," Eliwood beamed.

"You three haven't had a GREAT strategy yet," Mark played the naysayer.

"Excuse me!" Hector protested. "But not once since you started letting us plan have we had to change strategy because the plan didn't work."

"My point exactly," Mark countered. "Remember the seafaring battle en route to Valor?"

"…Aye…that's not the kind of thing one forgets…" Hector had never been so certain he was going to die. _The Dravos_ had been outmanned three ships to one with a breached hull. Mark had ordered all hands to formation on the captain's deck and meant to repel the invaders there, but when the ship took a hit at ramming speed and started taking on water there was nothing to be done but send the best of their manpower below deck to plug the breach. The effort proved futile, as the breach widened and more foes boarded. Mark realized quickly enough that they could send all hands below and keep the ship afloat or put all hands on deck and repel the boarders, but could not do both. It seemed to all their options were limited to _be routed_ or _be drowned_.

"And you remember how the day was won?"

"THAT was a great plan," Lyn recalled. When all seemed lost Mark had given the decisive command; _**Take Their Ship**__. _Every trainee and privateer formed up and rushed starboard, overrunning _The Black Diamond_ and slaying its crew. _The Dravos_ sunk with its boarders. Fargus took the helm (and the booty) of his new prize. And, having snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, they completed the journey to Valor on a pirated Black Fang frigate.

"No plan is so well laid that it cannot be disrupted by change of circumstances or execution errors or plain dumb luck," Mark cautioned. "Good strategy is making a plan that wins a battle. GREAT strategy is keeping control of the field after the plan that was suppose to win the battle falls apart."

"…Its like you WANT our strategy to fail…" Eliwood sighed.

_I want to see how you handle yourselves when it does._

* * *

Mark first realized the battle wasn't going to go anything like the lords planned when the cavalry broke west.

_Huh…that's different… _

It certainly wasn't the obvious move. And none of the Black Fang commanders Mark had seen fielded thus far had chosen anything other than the obvious moves.

Eliwood and Hector's central deployment—the bulk of their army—was now decidedly useless. Lyn's battalion fell back, in danger of being completely overrun. Eliwood and Hector barked out panicked commands and attempted to reposition around the active fighting, turning tail on Pascall's Keep and marching south by east around the bog to meet Lyn's pursuers.

That was when the river pirates struck….westward to Pascall's keep and south down the throughway. Not against the village Florina had flown out to defend—unassailed and without a foe to be fought—but against Eliwood and Hector's forces, to take them in the rear unawares as they made their retreat.

The assault caught the commanding lordlings in a state of confusion; their need to reach Lyn before the cavalry broke upon her clashing with their need to cover their rear. Neither had any inkling how to divide their manpower between the two tasks. In their confusion they hesitated. And in their hesitation the damage was done.

_Whatever tactician commands The Fang is doing as fine a job controlling the field as if I myself were leading their men. _Mark marveled.

Florina saw the task she had been assigned was now pointless and that her strength was needed elsewhere; hastily she disembarked to cover Hector's men (Eliwood and Hector having finally worked out that Hector and Oswin would hold the throughway while Eliwood and Marcus led a charge to reinforce Lyn). But no sooner did she make the attempt than a volley of ballista fire told her the skies between her assigned post and the active fighting were unfit for flight. So it was that the lordling's greatest asset was locked out of combat as the fighting intensified.

_Whatever tactician commands The Fang is controlling the field EXACTLY as I myself would do so if I were leading their men_, admiration turned to suspicion as Mark saw the opposing army execute a maneuver he had thought unknown to all but himself and the woman who had taught it to him. A pair of pegasus knights with rescue staves teleported each other across the battlefield in rotating alternations—blinking through the zone of danger around Fiora and Florina's airspace—near instantaneously crossing the distance from their mountain perch to Eliwood's break-away (and punctuating their arrival by teleporting every mage in the monastery Fiora was suppose to be clearing to Eliwood's position).

_That's Robin's Rush. The only other strategist who knows it is…__**ohhhhhh, Seven Hells**__…_

Mark knew what was going on. And knew that the lords were in WAY over their heads. His sword came out, his thoron blasted a hole through a column of horsemen, and his order to regroup carried across the Fallows.

After that the battle stabilized. Mark's students were treated to a rare glimpse of something they almost never got to see; the grandmaster fighting seriously. He held back almost the entirety of his power when he sparred against them; this much was known to everyone who had ever seen him draw his sword. And Lyn—who had known the man for over two years now and fought countless battles by his side—could count on one hand the number of times she had actually seen him draw his sword with intent to kill.

Watching the grandmaster perform his craft was like watching poetry in motion. He didn't even fight—he just_ moved_. The swing of a blade was as a steady stride to him; the bolting of destructive magic as drawing breath. The flare of his _Ignis _turned clashes into routs, and soldiers in his midst fought as they had never fought before when he released his rallying cry.

"…This is bad…" Mark's soldiers were surprised to find panic in his voice when the last foe was felled and his sword was sheathed. "…This is very, very bad…"

"I am deeply sorry we failed to finish the fight without your intervention," Eliwood apologized for what he thought was troubling him. "The Fang used tactics we had never faced before. We did not know…"

"…the fact that you can tell the difference means you're improving. You did nothing wrong; this was not a foe you should have been facing in my steed. The fault is mine for not realizing it sooner."

"You're nervous," Lyn heard it in his voice. She had always known Mark to be a man of supreme confidence; nothing ever unnerved him. "Why are you nervous?"

"…because I think I know who gave the Black Fang that strategy, and if she followed me here, then Nergal is no longer at the top of our threat list," Mark let that sink in. His attention settled upon a new face that had not been with the company when the battle began; a woman shorter than Fiora and taller than Florina, darker of hair and lighter of mood, and too familiar with them in her affections to be a first-time acquaintance.

"You were one of the pegasus knights fighting alongside Pascall's men, weren't you?" Mark questioned.

"Switched sides when I saw these two fighting for you," the woman draped her arms around "Florina and Fiora. I'm…"

"…Who hired you?" Mark at this moment could not have cared less for her introduction.

"You can trust her Mark; Farina's our sister!" Florina chirped.

"A gold-digger and a flake, but I'll vouch for her," Fiora shifted uncomfortably beneath the woman's arm.

"Trust is not why I am asking," Mark spoke in a tone that said the matter would not be dropped until he received an answer that satisfied him. "Who hired you?" he repeated.

"A little boy paid us 20,000 a head to sit the peaks; 50,000 for the two who said they could use magic staves," Farina gave him his answer. "He acted like a child and kept saying that we had to do good or _Mother_ would be angry. But he was absurdly strong. And wearing robes kind of like yours…"

"…Morgan…" _She dares use the boy against me? _"…Robin, you hateful bitch…"

"I'm confused; who are we fighting now?" Hector asked the obvious question.

"A grandmaster of the Outrealm Order. My old…partner…" _They don't need to know more than that. Not yet, anyway. _"Very old, and very powerful. I cannot imagine a more dangerous foe."

"How is she more dangerous than NERGAL?" Eliwood couldn't believe it. He had seen the sorcerer rip souls from their body and drink them.

"Besides the fact that she's stronger, smarter, and knows every technique I could possibly hope to use against her?" Mark rattled off the list of things that made a pissed-off Robin the most horrifying opponent he had ever known. "You know that thing Nergal is trying to do where he summons a dragon, consumes its spirit, and fuses its essence with his own to increase his power? She already did it."

_And Heaven knows that fel monstrosity was no ordinary dragon._

* * *

"These are the Fallow Fens?" the girl in the company of the Four Fangs asked curiously.

"Just over these hills milady," Lloyd Reed was nothing if not ever the gentleman. Ursula had protested when he had offered to escort the amnesiac girl, but Lloyd had refused to leave her helpless by the side of the road. Short and petite and pink of hair with pigtails held together by silky lace; she was the very visage of helplessness and innocence. Highwaymen would have had their way with her for sure if he had left her unattended.

"We'll camp here for the night," Linus chose a concealment in the brush that sheltered them from cloying eyes and left them with a hawkeyed view of he road leading to their position. "I'll take the first watch. You should get some rest."

"Unnecessary," the girl made to continue down the road on her own. "Thank you for your time and your companionship; you've broken up the tedium of this chore better than I had hoped. I require no further assistance to reach Pascall's Keep."

"We never said we were heading to Pascall's Keep," Lloyd narrowed his eyes, and moved his sword-hand to the hilt of his scabbard. "You said you had no memory of…"

"The girl has played you for a fool, Lloyd," Ursula smirked and snapped her fingers. A wall of fire appeared to bar the deceiver's path, and Jaffar appeared behind her with a dagger to her throat.

"Who are you?" the Angel of Death demanded.

"Put those flames away before you hurt yourself," the girl spoke to Ursula without the slightest hint of concern for the dagger pressed to her throat.

"…He'll kill you…" Lloyd warned.

"I'd say he has a better chance than the hag on the horse, but I'd be lying," the girl taunted.

"Insolent whelp!" Ursula struck her with a spell—or attempted to—but The girl simply backhanded her thunderbolt into a hillside (Lloyd and Linus backed away).

"You have 5 seconds to point that knife away from me, then I hit you so hard I knock you into another timeline," the girl told Jaffar plainly.

Jaffar briefly considered the merits of her threat, then sheathed his dagger and released her.

The girl continued on her way, walking through Ursula's wall of fire unbothered.

"DON'T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" Ursula summoned a flame javelin and ran the girl down with her makeshift lance.

The girl caught it bear-handed, pulled on it with enough force to throw Ursula off her horse, and cut her falling form from hip to shoulder with a blade of fel magic in one fluid motion.

"…I never liked this one…" the girl coldly regarded the valkyrie bleeding to death at her feet before addressing the remaining 3 Fangs. "You are not capable of stopping me and will only die in the attempt. **GO!** You will not be warned a second time."

The Brothers Reed had never heard an apocalypse-heralding dragon roar before, but they suddenly imagined it would sound much like the girl standing before them shouting **GO!**

They were quick to flee.

Jaffar followed, but not before noting that something about the girl with the dragon voice reminded him of the man who had bested him on Valor.

"Mottthhhherrr!" Morgan's cry found the girl still leering coldly over Ursula's death throes. "I…"

"The attack was unsuccessful?" she didn't need to hear it from him.

"…My strategy wasn't good enough…" Morgan pouted.

"Of course it wasn't. Your opponent was _That Man. _The battle proceeded thusly..." Robin could have told him as much before he ever hired his pegasus knights or conspired with the Lord of the Fens. "...low-level initiates marched forth to meet you in the field. They fought. They struggled. You all but won. Then when their defeat seemed most certain, he took to the field and crushed your army. The battle would have been over before it began had he simply taken to the field at the outset. But he would sooner see students do the work of a master."

"You were watching?" Morgan asked, puzzled.

"There was no need. I have watched him all my life," Robin sighed. "Your father and I were always equal but opposite in all things. Do you know what the greatest difference between us was?"

"He left and you stayed?" Morgan ventured a guess.

"Mark believes the duty of the strong is to raise the weak. I believe the duty of the strong is to rule them. He will wield his true power only as a last resort when he sees that those whom he has raised are not strong enough to achieve his aims, whereas I do not hesitate to wield power as my first."

Robin drew her REAL sword—a sinister black parody of _Falchion_ forged from the horn of the fel dragon—and plunged it through Ursula's squirming form. Ursula squirmed no more.

"Mark will always err on the side of restraining power, whereas I will always err on the side of celebrating it," Robin wiped the blood from _Grimslayer_. "Let this be your first lesson in the error of his ways."


	8. Chapter 8

Interlude: Practice And Preparation

"Those two seem to be hitting it off," Eliwood watched befuddled as Hector and Linus drank and brawled and cursed their overbearing brothers as though they had been best friends for life.

"…They're practically the same person…" Lloyd joined the Prince of Pharae in marveling at the unlikely friendship . Hector came at Linus with a tomahawk in one hand and a broad shield in the other while Linus came at Hector swinging a gigantic battle axe with two hands; experimenting in each other's styles and swapping pointers on blocks and cleaves. "…To think that if they met under different circumstances they'd be trying to kill each other. And one of them would probably succeed."

"…Ridiculous…" Eliwood agreed.

Concerns that Robin's offensive presence would disrupt plans to parlay with Black Fang high command proved ill-founded as, ironically enough, her arrival served only to hasten their joinder. Mark had ordered a full retreat back to Addenar after routing Morgan in The Fens, anticipating a follow-up attack from _Mother_ and not wanting to be anywhere near where she would come looking for them when that happened (Mark delayed the return march only long enough to enter Pascall's Keep and loot the dead man's apothecary, making off with an alchemy set and several barrels of reagents for reasons he still had not disclosed).

Lloyd too thought to leave The Fens well enough alone; regrouping and reevaluating in a place where the name of The Fang stirred devotion and the townsfolk would see the Brothers Reed well-served. Jaffar had suggested a nearby arena town where he often reported to Sonia's daughter after missions; a town where Lloyd had once slain a corrupt tax collector who stole from honest men and Linus had axed the kingsmen who came to do "justice" for the slaying. It was a place where they had no shortage of friends and followers.

"Addenar it is then," Lloyd decided. And with that, he had set out on an inadvertent crash course for Mark and company.

As far as awkward first encounters went, Linus discovering that they were sharing an inn with the lordlings they were supposed to kill could have been a whole lot worse (it had been the younger brother who had made the first sighting of Hector Ostia and recognized him as their quarry). Linus moved against him without so much as a word of caution to his fellow patrons, and Lloyd had half a mind to shout him down for his lack of forethought and awful habit of starting brawls in taverns. But then a man—who while not particularly impressive in gear or stature moved with unquestioned authority and commanded instant attention when he spoke—gave the speech Lloyd had reserved for Linus to the lordling with whom he was brawling. The speech ended short with a recognition of who it was the lordling was brawling with (and a congratulations that he had escaped the scrap with only mendable wounds).

That was how the Brother's Reed met Mark. And if the tales he told of deceptions and dragons were unbelievable, Robin's vulgar display of power was enough to make believers out of them.

"Uncle Lloyd; these people are SO nice!" Nino chirped happily, between target practice with Rebecca and stance training with Florina. "Why did you think they were evil?"

_Because Sonia is a lying whore. _"A simple misunderstanding," Lloyd lied, sparing the girl.

"We thought YOU were evil," Florina laughed.

"I still think that one's evil," Rebecca pointed to the corner where Jaffar stood silent and unmoving.

"That one is Nergal's dog," Linus sheathed his axe and grabbed his ale. "Best take him out back and scalp him before he feeds you to his master."

"I'll drink to that," Hector raised his glass.

"No!" Eliwood and Lloyd spoke in unison.

Linus chuckled at the unintentional sync-up and Hector cocked an eyebrow.

"Jaffar was deceived like the rest of us," Lloyd scolded his brother. "If he is responsible for Nergal's crimes, we are responsible for Sonia's."

"And what's your excuse?" Hector scowled at Eliwood.

Eliwood said simply "I share Mark's sentiments on the matter," and that was all that needed to be said.

"Where _IS_ Mark?" Florina wondered. It had been close to two full days since they had last heard from him; in the time she had known the grandmaster that was the longest he had ever gone without inspecting her as she trained and correcting her form.

"Where do you think?" Rebecca threw a glance at a barricaded cellar door, where wafting fumes and a faint blue glow could be seen escaping through the cracks. The last they had seen of Mark was him entering the cellar with instructions not to follow until he called for them.

"I know…but I mean what do you think he's doing down there?" Florina was use to Mark being secretive. She wasn't use to his secrets having shimmers and odors.

"Probably mixing whatever alchemy ingredients he stole from Pascall's," Eliwood opined. _Into god only knows what. _

"Did you know he could do alchemy?" Hector had always been more perturbed by Mark's secrecy then his peers.

"I did not," Eliwood admitted.

"I saw him do it a few times back in Sacae," Florina had thought nothing of it at the time. She had been a new recruit and terrified of everything, and of all the spectacular things she had seen Mark do mixing potions hadn't exactly stood out. "Whenever we were running low on vulneraries he would make his own." That was before he had three royal houses funding him, although truthfully, Mark's concoctions had always worked better than the castle stock.

"…I don't think he's brewing vulneraries down there…" Lloyd sniffed. The fumes wafting out of the basement had turned acrid and harsh. (The innkeeper had complained that they were keeping customers away and threatened to throw them out, but relented when Linus and Lloyd told him they were preparing for an important mission and even offered to host their entire party free of charge. The word of The Fang went far in Addenar.)

"Whatever he's making, it REEKS," the fumes were becoming overpowering and Linus was beginning to feel light-headed. "Gods; I need to get out of this inn. There's fighting in the yard. I'd rather watch that than choke on cauldron haze."

"So say we all!" Hector finished his ale and marched out to the yard.

"…I think I just lost a best friend and you just lost a brother…" Eliwood followed with Lloyd and the girls.

* * *

The fighting in the yard was none other than Lyn having a go at Raven. Lyn was without her usual speed advantage; Raven being plenty fast enough to keep up with her. Raven had her out-muscled and the added advantage of shield and cuirass.

Lyn was taking a beating and doing very little damage in return; Raven's guard was solid and her slashes were not getting past his blocks and parries. Then her body glowed green and Raven's shield found her attacks unblockable, and the swordsman was on his back and bloodied.

"…fucking _Ignis_…" Raven swore. Lucius helped him to his feet and mended him. "How do you counter it?"

"Use it better then whoever is using it against you," Lyn suggested. She grinned when she saw who was watching her. "HEY HECTOR; How about a rematch?"

"No. I'm good." Hector had zero confidence in his ability to fight with _Ignis _or against it.

"…If I may…" Lloyd took Raven's place and unsheathed his sword.

"Gladly," Lyn accepted the challenge and settled back into her stance. _If I want to be the best, I have to beat the best._

When Lloyd attacked, Lyn had the sensation that his sword was in five places at once and that figuring out where to meet it was a guessing game. His speed was outrageous; Lyn blocked his first blow but could not stop the flurry that followed, and gave ground as Lloyd pushed forward. Lyn had hoped to at least give him a fight in base before flaring up her _Ignis_, but all she was giving him was a target.

Lyn glowed and focused her energy into her blade and swung with all her might. Lloyd simply sidestepped left and cut right as Lyn came at him, leaving a deep gash across her thigh and bringing her to ground.

"It's a good technique. It's not uncounterable," Lloyd stood triumphant. "Dodge instead of blocking or attacking into it. The attack is stronger, but it still needs to hit."

"Well fought," Lyn conceded, struggling back to her feet. _I thought I'd be there by now. I still have so far to go. _Lloyd extended a hand to help her up and Lyn begrudgingly accepted.

"Can I try something?" Eliwood took to the field and drew his sword against Lloyd.

"…By all means…" Lloyd had wondered ever since meeting the mild-mannered prince how he would handle himself in a fight. He seemed so gentle it was hard to imagine him having a fierce side, but opponents who appeared this way were often the most dangerous.

Eliwood took the first swing and Lloyd batted it aside.

Eliwood was not Lyndis, and when the flurry came he could not rely on dodging speed to avoid the worst of it. He instead took the attacks on the thick of his armor (he couldn't wear the bulky plates that protected Hector, but moved well enough in chainmail to direct blows to his protected parts).

Lloyd's strikes became more precise when he saw what Eliwood's game was; targeted at the gaps and joints where armor offered no protection. With precision, the placement of Lloyd's blade became easier to predict. With prediction, Eliwood was able to clash against his stroke.

That was when Eliwood released his _Ignis_.

His soulfire burned bright and the force of it roiled off his sword, crashing against Lloyd and staggering him with its impact. Eliwood recovered from the clash before Lloyd and swung horizontally with an attack that could not be side-stepped; Lloyd (still staggered) barely back-stepping in time to avoid the tip of it.

Eliwood pointed his sword straight forward and charged as though to impale…

…then his _Ignis _stopped glowing and his body gave out, and he fell down too exhausted to move.

"He almost had you!" Linus called out to his brother. Lloyd did not disagree.

"Damn it; I'm weaker then Eliwood and Lyn now," Hector grumbled. "I need to train more."

"Train MORE?" Florina giggled.

"What!?"

"You never train," she teased.

_I never had to. I was always just __**The Strong One.**_ "Well maybe I should start," Hector resolved. "And…errrrr…maybe you could teach me?"

"…oh…" Florina blushed, a touch of her old shyness returning. "I-I-I guess I could. I-I-I mean…if you really think that I could…"

**FWOOOOSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH**

The entire first floor of the inn glowed florescent blue, and smoke billowed from every window.

"It is done," Mark emerged from the haze.

"…There you are…" Rebecca fanned away the encroaching smoke with her bow, removing her bandana and covering her nose and mouth with it to escape the stinking cloud. "What is THIS!?"

"For what we are about to do you will need to be stronger, but training you as I have been training you will not suffice. For what we are about to do**_ I_** will need to be stronger; I must increase my own power, and there's only one place I can do it," Mark explained. "You will join me and train as the grandmasters train; those of you who will it, at any rate. I had not planned on showing it to you so soon, but with the preparations I have made I believe your minds will survive the journey."

"…Our minds will survive the journey…" Hector repeated. "…The hell…where do you mean to take us?"

"Words describing it fail; you must see it for yourself." Mark was being even more cryptic than usual. "Join me in the cellar and all will be revealed. Be warned; what you are about to see has driven many men of genius to insanity. It is not for the weak of mind or the faint of heart."

"…in a tavern cellar…." Eliwood couldn't help but think the innkeeper would have been less inclined to permit their stay with knowledge that Mark was summoning eldritch abominations against reason in his basement. "This is all going to make sense when we see it, right?"

"Nothing is going to make sense," Mark seemed hellbent on warning them every which way. "You will question what is real and what separates that which is real from that which is not, and if the difference between the two can even be known. Your own existence will perplex you. Those of you who choose to come with me will not be the same person when you return."

"You know we're all coming with you. Stop trying to scare us," Lyn would not be denied. "Where are we going?"

"..."

"Mark?"

"...To The Outrealms..."


	9. Chapter 9

**I haven't had a real "Authors Notes" section after any of my chapters yet. I didn't feel it was necessary. The story speaks for itself. This chapter WILL have follow-up notes. I will be announcing an experiment of sorts (something that I don't think has ever been done before in FE fanfiction) and looking for other authors to participate. **

Lesson #7: Imprinting Your Intent  


It was a strange, strange thing to be everywhere and nowhere.

_Everywhere and nowhere. _That was how Mark described the unfathomable fathoms to which they had journeyed.

Hector had taken his place in the invocation circle like the rest; emptied his thoughts and quaffed Mark's potion, and focused only on the sound of his voice and the power of trance and collective conscious.

Then his mind exploded in a kaleidoscope array of insights he had never known. There were spectra within spectra—possibilities within possibilities—realities not just in the sum and substance of the universe, but in the angles in between. Hector had the sensation that he was immobile but moving at great speeds; whole but fragmented across cosmological distances; seeing for the first time the weave of a pattern that he wore everyday but never thought of as anything more than finished fabric.

Elibe was so very distant and far away. There was only the ophidian motion of space that was not space and the faint thrumming of vibrations on the precipice of audible sound and the amorphous geometrics of impossible shapes.

Hector was aware that the others were with him and experienced their every precept as though it was his own. He saw shapes that could not be shapes through two dozen sets of eyes, and two dozen brains broke trying to make sense of them.

Then that too peeled away, and Hector was alone in the dark.

"Is this the part that's supposed to make me lose my mind!?" two-dozen brains thought the thought that was Hector's and not Hector's, and two-dozen mouths spoke the words. He was alone and yet he was connected. He was Hector Ostia. He was Eliwood and Lyndis and Farina and Florina. He was a bearded middle-aged man wondering if the mother of his daughter was the woman he was supposed to marry. He was no one.

"_**No."**_Mark's disembodied voice answered from somewhere out in the Ether. "_**This is."**_

* * *

"NOT LIKE THIS! I WILL NOT DIE LIKE THIS! WITH MY LAST BREATH, TREMBLE AND DESPAIR!"

…That was Nergal's voice…

They were back at the Dragon's Gate. Nergal was felled; Hector standing over him, hefting an axe that put Wolf Beil to shame.

…except it couldn't have been Hector because Hector was watching from beyond the gate…

Lyn placed a hand on other-Hector's shoulder and whispered something.

…except it couldn't have been Lyn because she was moving gracefully in armor…

Eliwood retrieved his javelin from Nergal's tattered cloak.

…except it couldn't have been Eliwood because Eliwood didn't throw javelins…

Kent and Fiora kissed to celebrate the end of their campaign.

…except it couldn't have been Kent and Fiora because Kent was kissing Farina, and Fiora was kissing Sain…

"What do you think his last words meant?" other-Eliwood spoke.

"There!" other-Lyn saw the materialization of Hector and company. "More morphs; by the gods, they look just like us!"

"…You…" other-Hector strode to meet them. "Who are you?"

"I'm Hector Ostia. Who the hell are you?"

"...they think they're human…" other-Eliwood choked back a tear.

"Nergal's depravity knows no limits," there was something almost Zen-like about this otherworldly Hector. A calmness to his fury (that he was furious, Hector had no doubt). An unflappable presence of mind. As the fury moved him he said only "…I'm so sorry…"

Then his spirit energy crackled like lightning and his axe glowed plasmatic blue, and before Hector could shout '_you don't understand'_ the Ignis-enhanced blow from Armads struck him.

It felt like death.

He couldn't possibly have been alive after taking a hit like that, and yet Hector saw everything that happened next.

Lyndis and Lloyd and Raven charged against other-Hector, but with a shout and a stance and a thunderous BOOM! he released a wall of force that pushed them back.

Other-Rebecca tapped a knocked arrow with a single finger and it shimmered with enchantment; when she loosed it the one arrow split into five and struck the whole lot of them. Another she fired upward, and by the time the shot reached its apex it had multiplied a thousandfold. Arrow after arrow rained down upon them in lethal volleys.

Other-Nino struck with flames that Linus could not block and Jaffar could not dodge.

Other-Lowen rode down Sir Marcus.

Other-Sain put a lance through Eliwood, and other Kent negated the power of Florina's _Ignis _by shaping his own spirit energy into a shield before cutting her down.

It was as plain as night and day. These otherworldly versions of themselves were stronger than they were.

The last of the company was slain, and then Hector was again alone in the dark.

* * *

"What just happened?" Hector could not tell if the question was his own or Eliwood's or someone else's, but he wanted it answered.

"**You died**." The voice of Mark answered as casually as though he were saying _you missed dinner. "_**That is to say; you experienced the sensation of dying."**

"Who killed me?" that one was definitely Hector's question

"**You did**." Mark answered, unhelpfully. "**In this reality**, **you completed your training and achieved **_**Limit Break**_** to stand not as my student, but as my peer. The version of yourself that you fought is what you have the potential to become."**

"What was that technique that Kent used to block my _Ignis_?" that one was obviously Florina's.

**A soul grounded in purpose protects, as the soul moved by purpose strikes. This is **_**AEGIS.**_** You will learn it in time.**

"And the technique that multiplied my arrows?" …Rebecca…

**The highest level combination of bowfaire and sorcery; the sniper soulbinds her weapon and imbues her arrows with her own intent to overcome all resistance. A single shot turns to five, each of which in turn turns to five until their target falls. This is **_**NARYANASTRA**_**.**

"What was that spell I was using?" …Nino…** "**How did I hit JAFFAR?"

**There is an incredible power locked inside you, child**. How stupid and spiteful was Sonia that she didn't see it? _ERK _had noticed the first time he met her that she had more magic than Lord Pent lying dormant in her blood…and the witch that brought her up hadn't so much as taught her letters**… The spell was **_**CYMBELINE**_**. This too you shall learn in time.**

"Why was Kent kissing MY SISTER!?" …Fiora…

"Why was Fiora kissing SAIN!?" …Kent…

"_**THIS**_** is what you ask me?"**

"YES!" …both of them…

"**In your reality, Kent is yours and you are Kent's. Nothing in your reality is certain in another**," that much should have already been obvious already. **"There are realities in which you wed Eliwood and bare his son. There are realities in which Kent weds Lyndis and sires her daughter. There are realities where you die with the rest of your squad on Valor and wed no one at all."**

"So what you're saying is there's absolutely no point in being loyal to one partner?" …Sain…

"**Concerning the effects of multiverse theory on the moral efficacy of monogamy, I offer no opinion,"** Robin may have said something about how the bonds they forged echoed across eternity and could never be broken if she was inclined to play the starry-eyed idealist (if for no other reason than to laugh at their angst when she exposed the lie; the woman had always had a vicious streak). Mark would give them no such delusions. "…**Stay focused…"**

Mark's voice faded to black, and a new reality twisted and churned into being.

* * *

"BASTARDS; YOU KILLED MY BROTHER! BLOOD FOR BLOOD!"

Linus came charging down from the shrine of seals with the elite vanguard of the Black Fang, and other-Mark deployed a force to meet them.

"…What in blazes…" both armies stopped in mid-charge when Hector and company materialized. "Who are YOU?"

"THEY killed your brother!" the lie rolled smoothly off of other-Mark's tongue. "See how they mock him; they join his imposter and your own to their charade!"

"I am his brother you dolt!" Lloyd tried to explain.

But it was a useless effort. Other-Linus was unmoved, and as one, the otherworldly Black Fang and Mark's otherworldly army moved against them.

"…huh…" Eliwood's clash against his double was not what he had expected. At all. "...You aren't very strong…"

"I've overcome more than you know, villain!" other-Eliwood poked at him with his rapier as Eliwood might have back when instruction from Marcus and sparring with Hector had been the sum total of his preparation for battle. The attack was weak and predictable; there was no challenge in stopping it. "Our strength is in our bonds. YOU WILL NOT STOP US!"

"That is the gayest thing _**I'VE**_ ever heard," an unimpressed Raven—having already grown bored with and easily disposed of his other-self—bashed other-Eliwood in the head with his shield and knocked him out cold.

Legault and Farina and some of the newer recruits struggled, but all the old veterans who had studied under Mark defeated their doppelgangers with utmost ease.

"Why were we so WEAK?" Lyn asked what everyone was thinking.

"In this reality Lyn found me unconscious on the plains, with no memory of anything except my name and some basic strategies." Mark appeared in a real body. "I could neither fight nor teach you to fight. As a result, many things went wrong. We failed to rescue Lord Elbert and return him to Pharae with Ninian and Nils. We allowed Sonia to kill Lloyd and frame us for his death. We accidentally killed Ninian…that was bad…"

"How did we ACCIDENTALLY kill Ninian!?" Eliwood demanded.

"You failed to perceive her as she truly was when she approached you in dragon form and struck her with the Durandal. It happened on this very field."

"…Oh_…" I don't like this reality, _Elliwood decided.

"…So that's what that is…" Lyndis stared sadly at the scene from a tragedy yet unseen.

"What is?" Eliwood didn't see it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

"_**Einherjar.**_ Phantoms that haunt The Outrealms; reliving their greatest glories and deepest sorrows over and over again." Mark explained. _Of course Eliwood's would be here. "_They are here not in this moment, but in every moment. Look beyond the moment. They are here if you can see them, but they are not here to be seen."

Eliwood saw it then. If ever a man wept so pitifully as his phantom self, the tale had not reached him. And then he saw the reason why…

"Can we leave this horrible place…please?" Eliwood didn't want to see anymore.

"First tell me why we're here." Mark challenged.

"Something about how we're stronger when we train as you train and weaker when we don't and…gods…can we just GO!" Now that Eliwood had heard the wailing it would not leave him be, and whichever way he looked all he saw was Ninian dying in his arms.

"Nothing is certain and everything can change," Lyn said it for him. "In our world you saved me and in this one I saved you; that alone is the difference between what is and what could have been."

"Why does it matter?" Mark asked

"Our reality does not shape us. We shape our reality. Every decision has meaning. Every act has consequence. Every move we make creates our destiny."

"That is the keystone. **_Everything changes when you start to emit your own frequency rather than absorbing the frequencies around you; when you start imprinting your intent on the universe rather than receiving an imprint from existence_**_." _Mark recited the words of the first of his Order. "To understand the meaning of these words is to walk the path of The Grandmaster. Learn them if you learn nothing else that I have taught you; know them as you know your own name."

…And then the world was no more, and they were once more lost in the dark…

* * *

**"The last two realities, I showed you so that you may better understand yourself. This one I show you so that you may better understand your foe…"**

The last world they had visited had been horrible for Eliwood. This one was just objectively horrible.

Storm clouds swirled over a blasted shell of a landscape that looked like it had not seen sunlight in a very, very long time. Nothing grew. The air tasted of brimstone. North and South and East and West the horizons glowed blood-red.

A great stone monolith of a temple stood at the center of it all.

"…That storm…" Canas felt the power and the energy. It wasn't natural. "It's magic, isn't it? _**Fel **_Magic."

"What do you know of Fel Magic?" Mark was surprised to hear an Elibian use the term. (and unsurprised to learn that if there was Elibian who knew it, it was Canas)

"It is taint. Not a form of magic in its own right—not like light or darkness or wind or fire—but what the pure forms become when corrupted at their source," Canas scooped up a hand of dead soil and inspected it beneath his monocle. "This blight. Those clouds. It is a corruption of earth and sky."

"…What happened here?" Hector saw ruins. Wherever they were, it had once been something more than dust and desolace. People had called this place their home. "Where in Elibe are we?"

" We are not in Elibe. We're in _**Ylisse**_." Mark corrected. "In this reality, a great disaster brings about an age of extinction. It happens here, at the _Dragon's Table_. This is where the world ends." _I know because I watched it happened. I could have stopped her…_

He didn't say it. He didn't have to.

"...Is that…it can't be…" Eliwood gasped. He was the first to see it.

The _**Einherjar**_ that drifted through the dust was younger than the man he knew and more furrowed with a face full of troubles, but it was unmistakably Mark.

"_Did you ever truly love me_?" a pink-haired phantom holding a suckling babe at her breast asked bitterly of the phantom Mark.

"_I loved the woman who danced in the moonlight and kissed me down by the riverside, and took me in a field of flowers. I loved her wit and her talent and the way she challenged me to be better at everything I did. I hated the girl who killed for power and saw the weak as playthings. I had hoped you would stay the woman." _

"…_it doesn't have to end like this…"_

"_You killed 17 Sheppards."_

"…_19 Sheppards…Sumia and Miriel were pregnant…"_

"…"

"_Why does it matter now? You knew what I was."_

"_If this is the path you have chosen I will not stop you. But I want no part in it."_

"…_What do you think you're doing…"_

"_I'm taking Morgan."_

"_If you want to walk away __**I **_won't stop _**You.**_ _But touch my child, and you die."_

"…Mark…" Lyn was speechless. "…That was…"

"…a scene from a memory," Mark walked away coldly. "Pay it no mind."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES

1) Whoever can tell me why Rebecca's technique was named_ NARYANASTRA  
_without using Wikipedia or Google gets a cookie.

2) What Mark says when he quotes "The First of his Order" (and the inspiration for this chapter title) is a real quote from New Age spiritualist Barbara Marciniak. I didn't come up with it on my own; I appropriated it for the purposes of my fiction. It was too good not to use.

3) This is my first time using The Outealms as a story setting. And I'm loving it. My favorite thing about writing fanfiction is the freedom to go beyond the canon and do new and exciting things with classic characters, while still making what they're doing feel connected to the source fiction. The Outrealms is basically a free pass to write whatever the hell you want and connect it back to the canon. Theres almost nothing you can't do with it; its the ultimate creative clutch.

...Now this is where things get interesting...

4) MY PROPOSAL: This fic is slowly morphing into an FE:A crossover, and I'm okay with that. But the canon crossover has been done before. what HASN'T been done before?

A fanfiction crossover. (...follow me here...)

I want (if any author reading this consents) to make your fiction one of the "realities" that Mark and Co. visit while training. You name your story I'll read. You can even PM me how you want the encounter to go down and how you want your fiction to interact with my fiction; who fights who and what they say and how your fiction performs.

There are rules: No generic novelizations. No crackfics. No modern AUs. And the fiction suggested must have a 'hook;" something about its setting and its characters that make it distinguishable enough from the canon to merit its own reality.

If these conditions are met and if we are agreeable to the merger, your cast of characters will appear here. (you will of course get credit and a shout-out for your fic)

5) My proposal may be a shit idea to which no one responds, in which case I will invent my own Outrealms (please don't make me invent my own Outrealms).

6) R&R (you have a reason to do it now)


	10. Chapter 10

**No takers? Making me write my own Outrealms…oh the bothers… **

**In all seriousness, I'm very happy with the direction this story is going. And I know what I want to do with my Outrealms now, so no harm done. **

**With no further ado...**

* * *

Lesson #8: Control

"_Don't give in Robin! You can fight it!" Chrom shouted. "Think of your first memories. Think of our bonds!"_

"_FOOL!" Validar shouted back. "She is my daughter and Grima's chosen vessel. This is her destiny!"_

_And then Robin did the last thing in the world that either of them expected her to do. She laughed._

"…_Robin?" Chrom couldn't make sense of it._

"_You find this amusing?" Validar took it for a sign that he had won. _

"_I'm just trying to decide which of you is the bigger idiot," Robin chuckled. "You if you still believe I'm your daughter, or Chrom if he still believes meeting him was my first memory."_

"_WHAT INSOLENCE IS THIS!? I AM YOUR FATHER AND MASTER; OBEY!" Validar flexed his control magic...to no avail… _

"…_Is that all?" Robin mocked him. _

"_How!?" Validar demanded. "How did you break my control?" _

"_The control was never yours. I broke nothing," Robin explained. "All along it was I who controlled you; controlled you so completely that you believed the strings that moved you were yours to pull."_

"_Lies. Lies! YOU LIE!" Validar would not believe it. He couldn't believe it. How could this BE!? "I gave you life! I raised you to your calling! I…"_

"_You entered Aversa's mind and made her believe there was a kinship between you. Do you really believe that a higher order of being would be incapable of doing the same to you?" Robin brought the truth crashing down on him. "Can you recall the face of my mother? The night I was conceived? A single childhood memory?" _

_He couldn't, and Validar broke down as the truth of Robin's words struck him. It was wrong. It was all wrong. What had he DONE with his life? Everything he had ever known...everything he had ever believed…_

"…_and that day in Southtown?" Chrom didn't like where this was going._

"_Not a necessary deception. But a convenient one," Robin loved where this was going. "A woman with no history is a woman with no motive. It would have been simple enough to make one up and make you believe it. But it was simpler still to make you believe I needn't have one."_

"_Why though?" Chrom still didn't get it. "Why the deception?"_

_"Do you know how many times Grima has been summoned?" Robin asked in lieu of answering._

_"That's not what I asked."_

"_Three." Robin didn't particularly care what he asked. "Once in the reign of the Third Zunami Empire. Once again in the days of The Flood. And once more in the Saga of King Marth. Each time a champion rose, and each time Grima was cast back into eternal slumber. The sages say that once awakened Grima must be so bound or it will destroy the world and conquer all; a summoning can have no other outcomes. The Sages are WRONG. There is a third possibility. Grima can be unmade, and its power transferred to the one who unamkes it."_

"…_You don't mean…" Chrom paled. Robin's true intentions finally dawned on him._

"_Two things are required to summon Grima; the Emblem and the Sacrifice. Validar delivered the Sacrifice. You delivered the Emblem. And now…I have no more use for you..."_

Chrom and Validar never saw her draw her sword, but with a single cut they were both felled.

"_TRAITOR!" Fredrick roared, and the Sheppards broke against her._

_But Robin's thunder roared louder, and Fredrick's fight left him when a bolt of it smashed through his armor. One-by-one, the Sheppards met their fate._

"_Poor little Lucina; what are you thinking?" Robin advanced on her when she was the last one standing, ignoring the dead and dying strewn around her and the cries of those who had not perished instantly from her blows. _

_Despite herself, the princess retreated and trembled. _

"_**I was right all along. Why did I back down? I should have killed her when I had the chance.**__ Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts. Take solace in knowing that there is absolutely nothing you could have done to stop this," Robin had her cornered. "Even if you had struck at me with intent to kill, your blade would never have cut me."_

_Lucina mustered the last of her courage and came at Robin screaming with a heroic strike. But the attack bounced harmlessly off of Robin's_ Pavise.

_And then Robin ran her through, and Chrom cried out as the woman he had once considered his closest friend in the world killed his daughter in front him. _

"_I said I had no more use for you. This may have been…premature…" Robin stepped over Chrom and went for Validar. She tossed him the Fire Emblem. "There is one more thing you can do for me. Go ahead and summon your god, so that I may kill it." _

* * *

"Did you know?" Lyndis asked.

"I didn't want to know," Mark admitted. Love had a strange way of blinding men to obvious truths; one reason among many why that precious, precious thing that moved men's souls had fallen out of favor with him. "I was blind to it."

He had to have known. It had been wishful thinking at best and willful ignorance, more likely, that made him believe love had changed her. That her lust for power had abated when her passions entwined with his own and that motherhood had made her a kinder, gentler Robin.

"Then what you told me that day in Araphen," Lyn still flushed at the recollection of how she had thrown herself at him. "Was that because…"

"There is no _because_; it is what it is." If Lyn had expected Mark to be any more open now than he was then, she'd have been disappointed. "I told you I could offer you something physical and nothing more. And I spoke truth."

"Do you still love her?"

"…"

"Mark?"

"She needs to be stopped. That's all that matters."

_That's a __YES._ Lyn was no man's fool. But she pushed no further on that front, and asked only "Can you stop her?"

"Before she absorbed Grima's power I would have been equal to the task. Barely. As she is now…"

Mark trailed off, and again, it was what he didn't say that gave Lyn her answer.

"There is a way. I can raise myself to her level." Mark had not yet exhausted his seemingly endless bag of tricks. "It will be dangerous and I will have to risk all, and the pursuit of power may consume me. That is why before I attempt it, I must first make the rest of you a match for what I am today. Should I fail—should I lose myself—you must kill me."

"I would never!" Lyn refused. "Even if I could. How could you ask me to end your life?"

"Have you forgotten where we are?" Mark laughed. "Who said anything about death being _The End_?"

"HE DID IT!" an ecstatic Florina interrupted them.

"Who did what now?" Lyn would have liked just a little more time to see where the Grandmaster's head was at, but that clearly wasn't going to happen now.

"Hector achieved _Ignis_."

"…Really?" that was a surprise to Mark. In his last conversation with the young lord Hector had told him that his purpose was to become stronger, and Mark had scolded that strength was merely a means to end. Purpose was what you did with it. Hector had scoffed at the distinction as though it meant nothing to him, and Mark had thought the call of _Ignis _still completely beyond him. But if Florina told it true…

"…Great…now I need another technique to one-up the bastard…" Lyndis could wield her _Ignis_ now at will, as could Eliwood. Hector was still a ways behind them, but she had no doubt that now that he had achieved manifestation he would soon be able to do the same. "Whatcha got for me, Mark?"

"Learn to fight in armor." Mark advised her, not for the first time. And then he took his leave. That Hector had grown stronger since he stopped neglecting his training and started getting closer with Florina, Mark had no doubt. But _Ignis_? Could he really?

Mark found him sparring with Eliwood. His technique had improved immensely; what Linus had taught him of shields and what Florina had taught him of embracing rather than fighting Mark's lessons, he had taken to heart. With shield blocks on top of plate mail Hector's form left very few openings, and it was only by the reach of his longsword that Eliwood was able to dance around his guard and put any damage on him at all.

But when Eliwood dealt his damage he glowed a fiery red, and the damage was catastrophic. Hector crackled blue and clashed against Eliwood's _Ignis _and even managed to push the prince back...for a moment. Then Eliwood shouted and burned brighter still, and Hector fell backwards and collapsed as fiery red spirit energy overwhelmed the crackling blue.

"Not bad for a first attempt. You're almost there…" Eliwood panted and sheathed his sword. It had taken the full of his exertions to beat Hector back. Then he caught sight of Mark with Lyndis and Florina. "You were watching?"

"…I was…" Mark reflected upon what he had just seen. The technique had been sloppy and the manifestation hadn't been stable, but there was no question. Hector had used_ Ignis_. As for Eliwood…

"What did you think?" Eliwood expected high praises.

"There is a flaw in your technique." Mark had first seen it when Eliwood found his inner fire and split the mountain. Then had seen it again when Eliwood took up the habit of sparring against Lloyd. And now saw it once more in his bout against Hector. "You use too much power. That's why you tire yourself out so quickly."

"But that's…I thought…I don't even use half as much power as you do!" Eliwood thought breaking clashes with power overwhelming was exactly what he was SUPPOSE to be doing with the completed technique.

"Nor should you. You haven't that much to use. But that is not the problem; your power is still growing. The problem is the power you do have is not being used efficiently."

"I don't understand…I use the technique exactly as you do..." Eliwood's first instinct had been to enter battle blazing and swing as many times as he could before the blaze died down. This he now knew to be error. And so he flared only on the clash or when his blade struck home and then immediately simmered down to conserve energy, just as Mark had taught him. "What am I doing wrong?"

"I will show you." Mark removed his robe and took a bare-chested stance; knees bent and arms crossed and feet planted firmly on the ground.

Eliwood drew his blade.

"Away put your sword; you shall not be needing it for this lesson," Mark instructed. "Try to move me."

"Move you?"

"From this spot." Mark deepened his stance. "Push against me and try to move me."

Eliwood pushed and shoved and slammed against him as hard as he could. But Mark would not budge.

"HARDER!" Mark commanded. "Your most forceful push; put some flare into it!"

Eliwood glowed and fired up and slammed into Mark with the power of his _Ignis _boosting his shove. And still Mark would not budge.

"This force that pushes against me; you are using all your power to produce it." Mark noted. "Do you feel my resistance?"

"_**Urghhhh**__,_" Eliwood could only affirm by way of grunting. It was like pushing against a castle wall.

"How much power am I using to hold you back right now?" Mark asked.

"Nothing. You're just **_THERE_**." Eliwood was beginning to grasp his meaning.

"More than nothing. But less than you," Mark saw that he understood. "Now I'm going to push against you with the same level of power that you use to push against me…"

Mark flared—no brighter than Eliwood—and Eliwood went flying.

"That is the difference between releasing your power in controlled, precise movements and letting it bleed out in a wild gush." Mark donned his cloak once more. "You have learned the basics of the form. Build upon them."

"What about me?" Hector had regained his footing. "Where do I go from here?"

"…I don't even know where you are…" Very few things baffled Mark. Hector's progress baffled him. "What purpose moved you to call out _Ignis_?"

"Growing stronger," Hector answered.

"That's not possible. Growing stronger isn't a PURPOSE." Mark furrowed his brow in frustration. "WHY do you want to grow stronger?"

"Well…you told me that I wasn't even in the top five anymore and that REBECCA was stronger than me. And…I don't know…I guess that just made me realize I was slipping…"

"Competitive spirit alone didn't get you there," Mark knew there had to be something else. "If not being the strongest bothers you, it means there's something you want to do with your strength. What is it?"

"Dunno." Hector shrugged.

"Then for the life of me, I don't know how you did what you just did." Mark thought about it every which way, and it was still absurd. The only explanation that vaguely made sense was that Hector DID know; but was just too embarrassed or unexpressive to say it. But Hector had never been one to be unexpressive or embarrassed, and if he was now, the _**Why? **_of it raised more questions than it answered.

"That was WAY better then my first time! You're going to be so strong!" Florina ran up to Hector and gave him a big hug, and it occurred to Mark then what it was that could move Hector's soul so boldly but leave him too timid to speak. He said nothing more of it, and advised Hector how to go about completing the technique.

Later Mark would make the rounds to see the rest of his students. All were growing stronger; each at their own pace.

Raven had failed to make any progress in achieving_ Ignis_ and had begun to grow frustrated…until Mark suggested he failed to progress not because he lacked ability, but because his soul was meant to be weaponized in a different form. Sure enough—as impossible as it had been for him to learn _Ignis_—Raven responded naturally to lessons in _Aether_. And even with an incomplete version of the technique, Raven could go toe-to-toe with any of the lords.

Rebecca too had begun to pull ahead of the pack; all her lessons finally falling into place and the bigger picture finally starting to click. She was fast and strong and clever—nimble in leather and brutally efficient with her weapon of choice—and when she fired her _Astra_ one arrow became five arrows. Even the sword was becoming familiar to her, as she trained with Lowen and taught him what she knew of rising up from humble beginnings.

Heath and Legault and Farina had reached at least a basic understanding of the fundamentals, catching up to the slower veterans who had never learned anything more.

Kent and Fiora continued to push each other to new heights, and Sain was never one to lag behind Kent.

Nino, as predicted, showed explosive growth the moment she came under the tutelage of one who actually cared to develop her tremendous power (Mark still could not believe that as deep as her inner strength ran, Sonia had never once seen fit to tap into it). In a week's time she had outpaced Lucius, Canas, Erk, and Priscilla…and still her growth rate showed no signs of slowing down.

Linus and Lloyd and Jaffar were troublesome. They presented the same problem as Marcus. It was an easier thing to learn than to unlearn, and they already knew so much it was difficult for them to start over from scratch. Mark found that teaching them his art was like teaching an old fisherman who had made his livelihood at sea how to live off of planting and sowing; a harder thing than teaching a blank slate of a youth who had never made any livelihood at all. They were starting off at a higher level. But they would learn slowly if they learned at all, and sooner rather than later they would be overtaken.

…then there were the stragglers…

Wil was hopeless.

Dorcas and Bartre and Oswin were old men set in their ways.

For all his talk of becoming the world's greatest swordsman, everything about Guy was mediocre.

Matthew was as crafty a man as any Mark had ever met and there was no one he trusted more when a plan called for stealth or deception, but in open combat his skills were lacking.

Serra was a fine healer and pleasant company. But her head was in the clouds, and though she could certainly strike a man dead with a spell if she wanted to she didn't have the heart for it.

"INCOMING!" Erk raised the alarm, and Mark sidestepped a beam of Thoron that Nino had fired off without any idea how to aim such high-level magic.

"Eeeek! S-S-SORRY!" the girl cowered as though expecting a beating, and Mark again found himself wondering just what the hell Sonia had been doing for fourteen years.

"…Carry On…" was all Mark offered by way of response, and Nino relaxed when she saw that he meant her no harm.

_They are ready_, Mark decided. It was time for the next phase of their training. Tonight he would treat them to the Hotrealms and Spiced Rum and a Master's Feast. And they would toast in his honor.

Tomorrow they would enter _**The Dungeon**_. And they would curse his name.


	11. Chapter 11

Lesson #9: Actions and Reactions

"Here?" Morgan saw a town like any other.

"Here." Robin saw the only site Mark would have deemed strategically fit to fall back to if he didn't mean to meet her in the Fens.

"How do you know?" Sometimes Morgan could follow his mother's logic, and sometimes her leaps of inference were lost upon him. This was a lost leap.

"Because that's what I would have done." _Our hearts may have drifted, but Mark and I are still very much of one mind. _

Adennar awaited Mother and Son; the town a hub of street gossip and war stories and fanciful tales.

…It was said that Lord Darin of Laus raided across the pinelands.

…It was said that Mt. Vehemut had been split down the center as though cut by a giant butter knife.

…It was said that The Crazed Beast of the Fens had met his end at the hands of the Black Fang; the Brothers Reed, no less.

…It was said that the army in their company had fumigated half a city block with preparations for their next assignment.

"The cellar where they prepared…I would like to see it…" Robin realized she would need a plausible reason why, and then hastily added "…the Commander will want an accounting."

"You report to Commander Reed?" the blacksmith who had told the tale gave her a suspicious look.

"That I do. Elite Special Forces," Robin produced a display of thunder and flame that left no doubt as to her ability to hold such a title.

"Ursula's shadow?" the smith ventured a guess.

"…Sure…lets go with that…" _Death. Shadow. Minor details._

"Right then. You'll want to see ol' Grummy at the Hook and Cleaver. Tell him Hammerhands sent ya."

_Right next to the Arena…he would… _ It was the best place to bring out the mettle in new recruits, Mark had always said. Robin couldn't say he was wrong. _Indulging in bloodsport and calling it growth; HE'LL kill for power and think nothing of it. But I'm the evil one...senseless bastard... _

The Hook and Cleaver still reeked of magic. Once on site Robin didn't even need to be directed to its source. Nor did she need to be told what Mark had prepared in the basement cauldron.

"…Overmind Serum…" Robin took a scraping of dried blue crust from the left behind cast-iron and ran it across her tongue. It still had the telltale tang.

"Overmind Serum?" Morgan had never heard of such a thing.

"A potion used to obtain higher levels of consciousness," _He doesn't still use these; does he? He knows better._ "Drinking it increases awareness, understanding, and mental capacity."

"…oh wow…that's useful...why don't we have this?"

"It's EXTREMELY addictive. Overuse leaves the mind unable to function without it," Robin cautioned. "And he made so much of it. Not all for him; he means to distribute it..."

"…which means there's something he wants his army to do that requires higher level of consciousness," Moran figured it out. "He took them to The Outrealms."

"He took them to the Outrealms," Robin agreed. _And what else, I wonder? Surely he made other plans.  
_

"Which Outrealm?"

"We have no way of knowing. Which is why we will not pursue him."

"No fair! You said we were going to find father!"

"We are. But we will not pursue him," Robin explained. "You don't _react_ to Mark. When you react to Mark, you lose. You act and make Mark react to you."

"…ohhhhhhh…I get it…" Morgan understood. "Let's summon Grima!"

"Such a naughty child," Robin chided.

"Pleasssseeeeee?"

"Very well. I will allow this." Robin conjured the fel dragon, and Adennar was laid to waste. "Annnndddd I do believe the Pheraen Border is that way…"

* * *

"HECTOR; Front and center ten minutes!" Mark burst into his lordly tent. Hector yelped and pulled his blanket higher.

"BE THERE SOON!" Hector shouted and shooed.

"What's this now?" Mark caught sight of woman's undergarments strewn about.

Florina sheepishly poked her head up from under Hector's blanket.

"..."

"..."

"Twenty minutes," Mark allowed. The grandmaster continued about his rounds. As expected, battlefield crushes had grown into more intimate relationships in the Hotrealms. Feast and rum had that effect on soldiers (beachwear also helped).

Lowen hadn't returned from Rebecca's tent after the luau.

Priscilla and Heath fell asleep in the same hammock.

And of course there was Hector and Florina; the sparks had been there since the Port of Badon campaign. They just needed an occasion to light the fire.

_Fighting alongside a soulbonded partner will awaken deeper power in them._ This was progress Mark wanted to see. This too was part of his strategy; his purposes in the Hotrealms hadn't been entirely recreational. _Another strategy I learned from Robin. I won't use all of her tricks against her, but I will use that one. Its a good trick.  
_

"Ready for training!" Rebecca hopped out of her tent with a spring in her step, and in an exceptionally good mood.

"…Look at you…" Raven smirked. "What did you do last night?"

"You know exactly what I did last night."

"…Can we not talk about last night…" Farina did the walk-of-shame back from Sain's.

"It would seem that in many realities, Sain and myself are destined to be brother-in-laws," Kent quipped and Fiora shook her head.

"Where's Hector?" Eliwood noticed he was missing.

"Delayed," Mark answered.

"With what?" Eliwood demanded.

Where's Florina" Lyn noticed she was missing.

"Also delayed," Mark answered again.

"…Oh…" Eliwood blushed.

"...Good for her..." Lyn approved.

When the full army had finally assembled Mark told them of their next destination. "I hope you've all enjoyed this little vacation we've been taking…because now this is happening…"

The realm he summoned them to did not have cool waters or silky sands or coconut shrimp and jerk chicken roasting over an open bonfire.

The realm he summoned them to had zombies. Very large, very aggressive, very hungry zombies.

Only Hector, Lyndis, Eliwood, Florina, Raven, and Rebecca survived Mark's introduction to the new Outrealm without being mortally wounded.

Matthew, Marcus, and Serra died. Horribly.

"There are few things you need to know about this Outrealm," Mark informed the living and the dead. "The first is that here death is not the end; it is a mild inconvenience. Every time you die, you come back at The Reliquary of Souls. That mausoleum-looking junket is the Reliquary of Souls," Mark pointed out the giant tomb where the formerly slain reappeared; naked, confused, and scrambling.

"DON'T LOOK AT ME!" Serra squealed.

"Is this really necessary?" Sir Marcus was indignant.

"So we can't die here? At all?" Matthew flaunted his nudity without bother just a bit longer than he needed to before seeking out his cloak and daggers.

"Not permanently. So in the conventional sense no…you really can't…" Mark parsed. "But you're all going to die; that's what makes this Outrealm such a good training ground. We learn from our mistakes. The greatest mistakes—and thus the ones that have the most to teach us—are the ones that get us killed. Normally after making such a mistake it is not possible to do anything else. Here that is not the case; you can die one thousand deaths and know the error that caused each one."

"…You're a madman…" Marcus armored up.

"Trust me when I tell you; a mistake that gets you killed is a mistake you won't make twice," Mark dismissed the rebuke. "When you have the knowledge of a man who has experienced every way death can come for him and knows the trick to cheat it in whatever form it chooses to take—when you see how completely that knowledge changes the way you approach the battlefield and raises you above men who lack it—you will understand our purpose here. And you will thank me for it."

"Okay…I get all that. But why do we have to be NAKED?" Serra was dressed again, but still peeved.

"When you come back, ONLY you come back. Vestments, arms, and gear don't." For some odd reason, Mark found that this caused more distress among his companions than the actual prospect of dying. _Being vivisected and disemboweled does not scare them, but cocks and mounds leave them stupefied. The first time a manticore puts a sting through them while they trouble over lost modesty is the last time modesty will trouble them. _"This close to The Reliquary, such an effect is troublesome only to the extent that you let it trouble you. When you die ten levels down in the _**Maze of Menace**_ with a legion of ogres and dungeon trolls between you and your equipment, coming back gearless presents a more strategic problem." _Problems that you'll die again trying to solve, most like._

"The **_Maze of Menace_**?" Eliwood knew where they were going next.

"…Another thing to know about this Outrealm…" Mark clapped twice, and as if by magic the ground before them collapsed and gave way to a downward staircase. The staircase ended at a pair of gnarled iron doors, which swung open to reveal a torch-lit vestibule with branching hallways. "This is _**The Dungeon**_; 50 levels of Maze, 9 Levels of Hell, 5 Levels of Abyss, and then _**The Vault**_."

"What's in _**The Vault**_?" Lyn asked.

"The _**Scroll of Aquirement.**_" Mark answered. "You asked me once how I achieved _Limit Break_. I will tell you now: I laid hands upon the scroll and read from its texts. Whosoever reaches _**The Vault **_will be my equal in wisdom and in power."

"…I'mma get that scroll…" Hector made to enter The Dungeon, but Mark stopped him.

"You six; with me," Mark selected out the elite fighters who had breezed through the zombie infestation. He had other plans for them. "The rest of you; heal up and begin at your ready. One last thing you need to know about this Outrealm: everything here is trying to kill you. If at any moment you feel like you are not one mistake away from dying, you are wrong. And probably about to die."

After that Mark left the lessers to their own devices.

"What gives; I want to find the scroll too!" Rebecca complained.

"Everyone else is getting a head start!" Florina agreed.

"Everyone else is going to stall out on the first eight levels from stupid death after stupid death after stupid death. For at least the next week. The first forays into _**The Dungeon **_are not so much earnest attempts at the scroll as lessons in what NOT to do if you want to live long enough to claim it," Mark corrected. "Much of this you already know. Let the others catch up some before you make your descent; in the mean time you will be doing what they cannot."

"And what would that be?" Lyn was ready for some next-level technique.

"Assisting me with my own training," Mark drew his sword (that got their attention). "I told you I needed to increase my own power, did I not?"

"You did," Lyn affirmed. "You also told me I would have to kill you if the power controls you."

"YOU? Kill Mark?" Raven laughed. "You can't even wind Mark."

"Alone, no," Mark agreed. "That is why all six of you are here."

"None of us can fight you," Eliwood reminded him.

"Alone." Mark reiterated. "Do not fight as you fight alone."

They didn't fight as they fought alone. They grouped up and paired off and struck in coordinated assaults. And Mark STILL beat them every which way.

"Ow…my BODY… " Raven got laid out.

"…too strong…" Rebecca smoldered, pulling herself out of the crater that Mark had blasted her into with the last of her mobility before she completely tapped out.

"I don't think we're going to be able to help you train," it was plain to Lyndis that if they DID need to put down a rampaging Mark, they didn't have the capability to do it. His rampage would go unchecked.

"Nonsense. You're exactly where I need you to be." Mark, as always, had a plan.

"But we're NOT," Hector didn't believe they were exactly where Mark needed them to be. "And I think you killed Rebecca."

"…Give me a moment…" the girl didn't move, but Hector heard her mutter.

"We really can't kill you," Florina agreed with Hector and Lyn.

"Have you ever heard the Legend of Sir Gawain of Daein?" Mark asked.

"The renegade knight who founded the Griel Mercenaries?" Eliwood knew of his story. "He's from the Epic of Tellius."

"That he is," Mark told the tale. "The story goes that Gawain came into possession of a cursed amulet and went berserk at the touch of it. In his madness he killed the woman he loved. Gawain resolved to protect the amulet and keep its power out of evil hands, but always he feared that he would succumb to it again. So fearing he contracted an assassin to shadow him and, if he went berserk, end his life. At first the assassin refused. Gawain was renowned as the strongest fighter of his age, and the assassin knew that a berserk Gawain was not a foe he could put down. So what did Gawain do?" Mark sheathed his sword and drew his dagger.

"…Oh gods…" Lyndis gagged. "…you're not actually going to…"

_**SLICE!**_

Mark cut the tendons in his sword hand.

"You ARE a madman," Raven echoed Marcus.

"A beatable madman." If Mark was in pain, he didn't show it. But he had so crippled himself as to render his blade arts unusable. "Now you don't have to guess if I'm going to hit you with a sword or a spell. Use Antimage Style and give it another go; there's absolutely no reason I should be hitting through _Tomebreaker_ now."

Mark's magic was devastatingly powerful. But that wasn't what made his spells dangerous. What made them dangerous was how when he mixed them in with his martial arts, no one could ever tell whether his movements would flow into spellcasting or swordplay. Always his body language would signal that he was going to use one before he used the other; the opponent prepared for his slash invariably eating a lightning bolt and the opponent prepared for his lightning bolt invariably eating a slash.

Being restricted to a single mode of attack made his technique MUCH more manageable. Manageable enough that Florina actually managed to put a spear through his back while the lords closed rank on him.

"Well fought," Mark fell.

"…Oh My God…I just killed Mark…" Florina said with all the amazement as if she had just flown her Pegasus to the moon.

"…that spear…" Eliwood marveled at the reach on the weapon, and looked at his longsword distastefully. Florina had been a full foot outside his weapon's hit-range when she landed the blow that pierced Mark's body; had she needed to be a foot closer, Mark would have had a fireball between them before the blow struck home. "I need to learn how to use it."

"He had to cripple himself and go 6-v-1 just to make this a fair fight…unbelievable…" Raven marveled at something else altogether.

"5-v-1. Rebecca didn't do anything on the second go-round," Mark corrected. He was already back from the Reliquary and fully healed, seeking the robes with which he covered himself. "You okay there 'Becca?"

"…Just kill me and be done with it…" Rebecca saw Mark unmarred by his recent cuts and piercings, and decided walking back naked to her bow and leathers would be less unpleasant than what the afterburn from Mark's Bolognone was doing to her body.

"What?" Raven flinched from the dirty looks Florina and the Lords gave him when he put his sword through her. "She said…"

"I heard what she bloody said." Out of respect, Hector averted his eyes as Rebecca made her return.

"…Well then…Time to get on Robin's level…" Mark knew now he could proceed without fear of uncorrectable error. From his robes he produced an ugly, metal-clasped tome marked with a pentagram inscribed inside a ram's skull and wrapped in a covering that looked disturbingly like human skin. "You're going to want to stand back. I haven't used dark magic in a LONG time."

Mark glowed—not his usual brilliant fuchsia—but a deep, dark shade of purple that seemed to consume rather than emit light. There was something malign about it.

"That's the book Athos showed us in Arcadia!" Eliwood had a moment of recognition as the pentagram on Mark's tome seemed to come alive. He knew he had seen the profane symbol before; now he remembered where. "The one that made Nergal go insane. He turned to it in an appeal for power, and it destroyed him."

"…You stole _**The Necronomicon**…" _Lyn was speechless.

"I'm just gonna say it; this is a REALLY bad idea." That book gave Hector the creeps.

"Robin has every skill I know and hosts the soul of a god-dragon," Mark had thought about this. Hard. "If you have a better way to match even against her, I'd love to hear it."

"Nergal couldn't draw out its power. And it turned him into a monster," Rebecca was dressed again and offered one final objection. "What makes you think you'll do any better?"

"Nergal is weak and stupid. He also didn't have this." Mark produced a vial of Overmind Serum. _Which I know for a fact Robin isn't using. Dependency frightens her._

Mark quaffed the blue liquid down. His mind expanded. His thoughts turned to the deepest mysteries of the cosmos. He was aware that the universe was vast and incomprehensible, that humanity was inconsequential, and that only in the folly of egotism could he believe that Robin and himself were anything more than insects quarreling over an anthill in the grand scheme of things. But in this awareness Mark found liberation, not dread, and his mind was at ease.

He was as ready as he would ever be to make _**The Necronomicon** _surrender its secrets.

Mark cracked the tome, and Hector swore he heard howling screams pour from its pages as they flipped open.

* * *

Author's Notes:

1) This is what happens when you don't feed me Outrealms. I go Lovecraftian.

2) You can still PM me to have your fiction appear as a level in The Dungeon. Do it. You know you want to.


	12. Chapter 12

**WE HAVE A TAKER FOR THE CROSSOVER SPECIAL: EveBlaze14, bringing Fire Emblem Awakening: The Forgotten Hero and the Reincarnated Tactician** **to the table. This is a cool story that blends 3 different FE casts together for the Ylissean Campaign (Naga is a chronic meddler).  
**

Lesson #10: Correcting Error

"This area is secure," Legault reported back to the Brothers Reed. The trio had set off on their own—the rest of Mark's initiates dying to often for their tastes—and made it further than any group.

"Same prep as last time?" Linus regarded the staircase to the next level. Several messy deaths had driven home the lesson: _Don't rush the descent. Backtrack, Stockpile, Identify, and always have a __**Get-Me-Out-of-Here **_plan at the ready before going down.

"The closest fountain was 3 rooms back and 2 rooms to the right," Lloyd recalled. "Bring everything there; we'll see if there's something we can use."

The ex-Fangs had recognized quickly enough that staying alive in The Dungeon wasn't simply a matter of honing high-level fighting skill and outlasting hordes of inhuman foes. That was only one piece of the puzzle, and if that was the only piece one saw death would be quick and frequent (Bartre thus far had been the prime example of what NOT to do; focusing only on swinging his weapon at the foes in front of him and seeing nothing else. He had yet to make it past Level 3).

The other pieces were strategy elements; the logistics of obtaining and managing equipment, the choices of how to use (or refrain from using) which assets against which threats, and the judgement calls of when to press forward versus when to fall back.

There were three basic things Legualt and Linus and Lloyd knew they needed to do to delve deeper in their quest for The Scroll: catalog all the causes of death that stopped delvers from so doing, identify answers to each cause, and find ways to consistently have those answers within reach as they made their descent. To these ends they had taken to lingering at The Reliquary after each death; long enough to meet others as they returned and hear word of their dungeon-delving experience. What they encountered. What they overcame. How they had overcome it. Most importantly; what had killed them.

The ex-Fangs were not so naive as to believe they had yet found every cause of death in the dungeon. After all, they had not even seen most of it. But their Reliquary stake outs had revealed important information: the common causes of death that had everyone dying over and over again on the first eight levels, and the ways to avoid them.

**PROBLEM**: The standard gear they had brought with them from Elibe was never with them after they died, and wholly inadequate for threats below Dungeon Level 5 regardless. This required the use of gear scavenged from The Dungeon; gear which was sometimes mundane, and sometimes aglow with magic. The magic gear could contain blessings for overpowering monstrous foes or warding off various forms of mortal demise… or contain hexes and curses that invited them. If one did not equip magic gear the lower levels were unmanageable for even the most skilled fighter, and if one did equip magic gear a nasty curse would eventually prove lethal. Directly or indirectly. (Priscilla had been strangled to death by a cursed amulet. Heath had been pierced by his own armor. Sir Kent had taken up a cursed sword that welded itself to his hands and then shattered its blade, leaving him unable to manipulate tools or wield a proper weapon against the threats that followed)

**ANSWER**: The fountains found on every level of the dungeon flowed with holy water. If magical gear was placed in one of the fountains, any curses or hexes attached thereto would be removed. Cursed items would become mundane, and any item that retained its magic after a dip could then be presumed blessed and equipped safely. (Brother Lucius had been the one to figure this out. Lloyd thanked him for it; this knowledge had proved immeasurably valuable)

**PROBLEM**: Rust Monsters and Slime Beasts would ruin any weapon that struck them. And, if they hit you, would also ruin armor (Sir Oswin had learned this the hard way, dying to a goblin with a stick—of all things—from fighting it in the condition he was left in after trading blows with a Red Jelly). Hydras would simply grow another head and become more dangerous when struck by a sword or an axe (a young one had sprouted 15 face-fulls of snapping jaws and ripped Guy to pieces before the swordsman realized his error). Curse Skulls—evil, evil, things—would paralyze anything holding the weapon that struck them, then summon bone devils that could easily kill a paralyzed foe.

**ANSWER**: Diverse means of dealing damage were needed; mastery of a single weapon would not suffice. For Lloyd, this was a full _back-to-the-drawing-board_ moment. Sword mastery was his life. Sword mastery was what made him the White Wolf of the Fang. If he was not Lloyd the Swordmaster, he was an apprentice all over again. Still, he knew, this was as good a place as any to try using things that were not swords (and to die from using them poorly). Lloyd had tried his hand at archery, lancing, axefaire, and even spellcasting; none of which felt right or he could say he was particularly good at, or could he ever envision himself understanding the way he understood the sword . Still—he could not deny—the simplest fireball was infinitely better against the likes of a hydra or a rust monster than the most deftly delivered bladework.

**PROBLEM**: Sir Marcus had no idea what the hell he was doing. As senior-most Knight Commander of the company he had become its de-facto leader in the absence of Mark and the lordlings. And it seemed as though he had only marginally more awareness than Bartre that conquering The Dungeon required a deeper strategy than_** Hit It Very Hard. **_

**ANSWER**: Stop following Sir Marcus.

"3 potions, an amulet, a ring, a cloak, a helm, and a scimitar," Linus took stock of their haul.

"Alright; who wants to be the test dummy this time?" Lloyd asked.

"I'll do it," Legault offered.

When they first entered The Dungeon their collective judgement would have told them that they were unharmed after their last battle and equipped with familiar gear, and therefore ready to press forward to the next level. They now knew that this was error, and that _**fall back to the last room with a fountain **_was the correct next step.

"…this one is a potion of strength…" Legault sipped from the first of the three vials, and punched a hole in the dungeon wall to illustrate its effects. "This one doesn't feel like its doing anything._** Eckkkkk**_…this one is poison…" Legault drank deep from the fountain of holy water to cleanse himself before the terrible stuff took effect. (Another helpful hint from Brother Lucius; who knew holy water had so many uses?)

"The second one might be a potion of curing," Linus guessed. "It wouldn't do anything if you were healthy."

"One way to be certain," Lloyd knew what they had to do. "Drink the poison, then drink the other one again. If the poisoning stops, it's a potion of curing."

"You drink the poison!" Legault had enough of it.

"Oh quit being such a baby," Linus took the vials and quaffed. Then became violently ill. Then drank the holy water. "That was not a potion of curing," Linus confirmed.

"…on to the gear then…" Lloyd threw the amulet, the ring, the cloak and the helm into the fountain. The amulet glowed back and then stopped glowing altogether. The rest of the gear glowed white and then simmered down back to its base shimmer.

"The amulet was cursed…now its junk…" Linus discarded the useless item. "…This ring…" Linus put it on his finger, and immediately found his body covered in a golden sheen. Further testing (i.e. punches from Legault and Lloyd) determined that this was a magical force shield, which blunted the power of incoming blows.

The ring was identified as having protective properties, the cloak was identified as allowing its wearer to become invisible, the helm was identified as allowing its wearer to see invisible, and the scimitar was identified as a sword of fire.

Legault took the cloak, Lloyd took the ring and helm, and Linus took the curved sword. (Lloyd still of a mind that he should be experiencing swordless combat; trying his luck now with combination of low-level fire magic and throwing axes and finding that if nothing else, it was at least good for generating mid-range threat before closing to sword range).

"Next level?" Linus saw no reason to linger further.

"Next level." Lloyd agreed, and the trio doubled back to the downward stairs.

It was their first time descending to Dungeon Level 9. No one at the Reliquary had been able to tell them of the death-traps beyond Dungeon Level 8, so to the best of their knowledge it was the first time anyone from their company had descended to Dungeon Level 9.

Level 9 was _quiet_.

With every level so far having been more difficult than the last, it struck the party as odd that this one would be so peaceful. The room with the stairs leading back up to level 8 had a weathered statue being worn away beneath the trickle of broken sewer pipes, an unadorned altar, and a creeping mold covering half a wall. Nothing that looked like it was trying to kill them.

_If at any moment you feel like you are not one mistake away from dying, you are wrong. And probably about to die._

"Maybe the mold is dangerous?" Linus faced the creeper and ventured a guess. This was what he was thinking when he felt the pinch in the back of his neck and his throat swelled up and his face went numb.

He was dead before his legs gave out from under him.

* * *

"This again? Gods be damned…" Linus was back at the Reliquary.

"Good run mate," Sain called out. Linus looked up and found him sunbathing in the nude atop the mausoleum, far too relaxed for where he was or how he had gotten there. "How'd you die?"

"I have no idea." Linus was wondering that himself. "What are you doing up there?"

"Waiting for the ladies. I'm one Florina away from seeing every perky pair in the company."

"…Of course you rare…" Linus's time with them had been short and his talks with them had been shorter still. But Linus knew enough of Mark's followers to know that Sain was Sain. "How'd YOU die?"

"The last time? Jaffar broke my neck when he caught me peeping on Nino. Totally worth it. Did you know she has the cutest little freckle on her…"

Linus picked up a large rock and killed him again.

"Still worth it," Sain came back.

"You could at least TRY to pretend you're taking this seriously." _I'm working my ass off to get stronger. and this fool of a knight is sight-seeing._

"Since I've gotten here I've been stabbed, poisoned, buried, drowned, incinerated, eaten, crushed, impaled, melted...and raped by a succubus. That last one sounds like it shouldn't be that bad, but its HORRIBLE." Sain rattled off the list of things that had killed him before Jaffar. "If I wanna see some titties, I'm gonna see some titties."

_**RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE**_

A ground-shaking earthquake knocked both men over and a mushroom cloud of dark magic rose to the East. Something red and glowing went flying from it; hurdling away at incredible speeds in uncontrolled flight and slamming into the side of the Reliquary.

It was Eliwood.

_"HYYYAAAAA!" _The prince was on his feet again with a shout and a charge of spirit energy, and propelling himself back to the battlefield with the force it released at a speed to match his hurdle.

"…The Fuck?" Linus was sure that a month ago, the boy hadn't been able to hit Lloyd.

"Give them a wide berth. We don't want any of that," Sain left well enough alone.

"Was that who I think it was?" Lloyd appeared at The Reliquary.

"You too? Damn," Linus shook his head. _Outfought by Legault; We're never going to hear the end of it._

"You there; sir knight." Lloyd was not one to let a good death go to waste. "How did you..."

"…Don't ask…" Linus advised. "How did WE die?"

"YOU took a poison dart to the neck. There was a koblod with a blowgun hiding in the pipes. I got bludgeoned by an ogre. It hits so hard…"

"And Legault is still…"

"He cloaked, ran away, and came back to salvage. Kid's got the helm, the ring, and the sword now….he's going the distance," Lloyd was proud. _Leave it to a Fang._

Legault appeared at The Reliquary.

"…Really?" Lloyd deadpanned.

"Those octopus-men can see through invisibility," Legault informed them.

"…Ithilids…" Sain corrected.

"Come again?" Legault regarded the strange,strange knight who had resumed his sunbathing.

"The lumpy bastards with tentacles coming out of their face. They're Ithilid_s_. Also called _Mindflayers. _They have crazy pyschic powers. Even if they can't see you, they can still lock on to your thoughts. If you want to take one unawares, you need a helmet that blocks telepathy."

Legault, Lloyd, and Linus gaped.

'…See…I've been paying attention…"

"You fought one?" Legault couldn't imagine that going well.

"Erk found a _Compendium of_ _Dungeon Dwellers_. I've been reading up. There's some NASTY beasts down there." Sain could do without meeting most of them. "Death Wurms…Magnataurs…Colossal Jellies…"

"Find any weaknesses?" Legault expected something good.

"Hit it very hard." Sain suggested, unhelpfully. "You want more than that; you're gonna have to tell me how you keep getting all that magic armor without getting cursed."

"Easy…you just…"

* * *

"Before we leave this outrealm, can I kill Sain?" Fiora knew why he was on top of that mausoleum. _Scouting for information he says; how stupid does he think I am?_

"Go for it," Kent had no objections.

Seven levels deep their pair-up was still going strong. The couple had found good armor very early on—full body suits of quality mithril—along with swords of acceptable quality for close combat and a large enough stack of throwing spears to go ranged.

"Level 8 again?" Fiora was nervous.

"We'll clear it this time." Kent assured.

The first room was cleared without difficulty. Kent and Fiora found a shimmering breastplate and a glowing pair of heavy combat boots amidst its treasure trove.

"Absolutely not." Fiora remembered what happened the last time they tried on glowing armor.

"They could be blessed…"

"...Or they could kill us."

"There has to be a way to know before you try it on," they were missing something. Kent knew they were missing something.

"If there's a way, we don't know it. The armor we have now is fantastic; its not a risk we need to take."

"By the time it becomes a risk we NEED to take, it will be too late." Kent knew better. But he did not wish to argue it. "Still; better to err on the side of caution." Their current armor _WAS _fantastic; lighter then steel and twice as strong and immune to sliming.

Kent and Fiora left the enchanted items behind and continued onward. Armor and coordinated spearings got them past an ogre of the kind that had killed Lloyd. Then they found something far more dangerous.

"MARK!?" _He made the full desent. _Fiora recalled. _This place must be crawling with his phantoms. _

This phantom didn't seem to know his name was Mark.

"Sir Robin; why do these risen keep calling you Mark?" the warrior princess from the blighted outrealm asked of him.

"MARK; your name is MARK." Fiora repeated! "Robin is the mother of your child. You don't remember any of this?"

"…That woman Lyn called me by that name…" this version of Mark didn't appear anywhere near as dangerous as the one Kent and Fiora knew. But it was still Mark (or Robin, or whatever he was calling himself). They could not let their guard down around him for a second. "What do you know of it; did I know you before I lost my memories?"

"…Oh…Its THAT Mark…" Kent remembered the ourealm where Mark had taught them nothing. "This shouldn't be too hard."

"ENOUGH! Kill them before they summon MORE risen! These guys look really strong," Lucina charged and Mark/Robin followed.

"You take the amnesiac; I got the princess." Fiora met Lucina's blade. Kent rushed her identity-confused tactician and forced him into a swordfight before he could cup a spell. _The Mark I know would never make it so easy_, Kent parried without issue.

From what Kent saw of Fiora's fight, the princess was the tougher foe.

"KRIS! THESE GUYS ARE REALLY STRONG!" Lucina called out when at last Fiora put her down. A much more dangerous looking fellow appeared, accompanied by a female tactician and…

"Lady Lyndis!" Kent really didn't want to fight her.

"Do I know you?" Lyn didn't recognize Kent in his new armor.

"It's me! Kent! With Fiora!"

"Impossible. Kent is marching with Chrom's Vangaurd. And Kent doesn't wear that! "

"It could be a Kent from another timeline. Or it could be a trap," the tactician girl considered.

"What should we do Katarina?" the one called _Kris_ asked her.

"Ask him something the real Kent would know but a Risen wouldn't," Katarina suggested. "Something personal."

"…Okay _Kent…"_ this strange, Ylissean-aligned version of Lyn threw out his name with great suspicion. "What did you say to me at Roy and Liliana'a wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

"…Imposters… " Lyn decided. "Katarina?"

"They were strong enough to beat Lucina and Robin; best leave this fight to Kris," Katarina advised.

"I can fight at Kris's level!" Lyn protested.

Katarina laughed, Kris drew his sword, and Kent and Fiora were back in the Reliquary in very short order.

* * *

"…What a fighter…" Kent couldn't even be mad over where he was or how he died. To have faced such an opponent and experienced his technique was an honor few knights would ever know.

"That Kris fellow would give _our _Mark a rough fight," Fiora was by no means a novice anymore. Nor was Kent. Kris had made them look like novices.

"I'm confused now," all these outrealms were screwing with Kent's sense of realty. "Do they have a Mark who thinks hes a Robin, or do we have a Robin who thinks hes a Mark?"

"Don't think about it too hard," Fiora herself was trying not to overthink it. _If there's an outrealm where I wind up with Sain, then there's an outrelam for everything. _"Think it would have made a difference if we took the enchanted armor?"

"Probably not. Kris's technique was flawless."

"_Hmmmmmmm…"_ Fiora troubled. "You're right. There has to be a way to see if something's cursed before you try it on."

"…About that…" Sain called out from his basking spot.

"YOU'RE STILL HERE!?" Fiora instinctively covered herself.

"Peace…" Sain wasn't _THAT_ shallow. "I told you I wasn't just peeping. Guess what those stupid fountains can do?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**-**Hope that was to your liking eveblaze. Thanks for reading!

-If anyone else wants an Outrealm cameo, I maybe have one more chapter where I can do it and make it fit with the theme of the chapter.

-Yes; I'm setting Lloyd up to make the jump from Swordmaster to Dread Fighter.


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